Shades Of Grey
by Dee Bradfield
Summary: LINKVERSE SERIES - PART ONE. AU Season Five. B/S. Spike experiments with some psychic stuff and there are unusual consequences.
1. Spiked

SHADES OF GREY

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A/N: This is not so much a re-posting as a fixed-up version. It reads better with the italics and stuff that it was supposed to have in the first place - Dee.

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TITLE: SHADES OF GREY**  
AUTHOR: **Dee Bradfield (My first finished fic - go me!)  
**FEEDBACK: **deebradfield@hotmail.com.  
**TIMELINE:**AU. Set post-chip and Riley is long gone (_happy, happy, joy, joy_ - spontaneous outburst, sorry). It's like Season Five, but without all the Glory/Dawn hoo-ha. (Who? Huh?).   
**SUMMARY:**Spike realized his feelings a bit earlier than depicted in the show and took off for a while. Now he's back, and he's a little different. He experiments with some psychic stuff and is contaminated by a supernatural infection that he may have inadvertently passed on to Buffy and Giles. At least, that's how it started - I kinda went all Forrest Gump with the ball.  
**RATING:** PG.  
**DISCLAIMER:**I don't own 'em but I'll put 'em back in their Mutant Enemy box when I'm done playing, so don't sue me, 'K?  
**DEDICATION:** To James Wesley Marsters for being such an all-fired hottie. 

~*[+]*~

__

"Love makes all hard hearts gentle."  
-George Herbert.

"Love makes you do the wacky."  
-Buffy Summers.

~*[+]*~  
**  
Chapter One - SPIKED**

It was odd. 

It was beyond odd when you thought about it, because for an inhuman creature he seemed uncannily familiar.

Buffy Summers shifted her grip on the ever reliable Mr. Pointy and squinted, trying to make out the vampire's features as he emerged from the crypt into the murkiness of Sunnydale's early twilight. She was cold and tired and this weirdness was putting a dent in her going-home plans.

The silhouetted figure pulled out a cigarette, tucked it into the corner of his mouth and flipped on a lighter. It was that brief, incendiary luminance that exposed his identity.

"Oh-my-God... Spike?"

Buffy hadn't known that she'd spoken out loud until he turned warily in her direction.

"That you, Slayer?"

Oh yeah, she'd be able to recognize that low Brit-edged tone even in England itself. Definitely Spike - erstwhile immortal enemy and infamous troublemaker. 

Buffy sighed. He was probably back in town to wreak more of his unique brand of havoc. She straightened, bent on confronting him, then hesitated and chewed worriedly at her bottom lip. Something wasn't right and it was throwing her spider sense off.

"Sod it!" he declared. It took her a startled moment to realize that the curse was directed at himself. "You're hearing things again, you daft git." He rapped a fist against the side of his head, peered around uncertainly and then shrugged, drawing deeply on his cigarette. Smoke drifted up around his head as he ambled in her general direction, a route taking him directly through a bright shaft of streetlight.

Buffy gasped, only now realizing why he seemed so different.

Spike had stopped bleaching his hair.

The sleek platinum-white had grown out into a far more natural shade - a darker blond not all that dissimilar to her own. The style was longer and strayed in unruly curls onto his forehead and around his ears. It made him appear, of all the weird things in the world, younger and cuter.

He was still wearing that infernal leather duster, though, even if it was layered over a cream-colored sweater and worn blue jeans instead of the perennial black T-shirt and pants ensemble. He looked almost... _stylish?_

She snorted then, alerting him to her presence and ruining her attempt at stealth. She came out from behind the semi-protective barrier of headstones and greeted him.

"Nice hair."

Spike pulled up short and stared at her.

He made no move, he uttered no sound, and he just stared.

Buffy stared back, refusing to back down in the face of his blatant scrutiny, but then his eyes distracted her.

Blue. 

Spike's eyes were blue. A beautiful undiluted sky blue. Had she _ever_ noticed that before? 

It was a strange thing to ascribe to Spike, but there was purity in his gaze – something honest and profound. Probably stemming from the fact that he had lived for over a century. Well, she amended, not _lived_ exactly - but then Angel had been around for even longer, with the addition of a soul, and she'd never seen anything this captivating in his eyes. 

Buffy felt a small internal shift, a tender blossoming behind her breastbone, and frowned at the sensation. She stared down at Mr. Pointy, having momentarily forgotten that the stake was even in her hand, and self-consciously tucked it into the back of her jeans, wondering if she should just leave. 

Then her anger kicked in. 

What the hell was this? Spike was a _demon_, a diabolical fiend that'd killed who-knew-how-many innocent people. What was he doing? Was he using some Dru kind of vamp-hypnosis on her?

Her frown deepened as she recalled the new purity in his eyes. Had that government chip in his head done the impossible and returned Spike's humanity? Had it mutated into some sort of man-made replica of his soul? There was a scary thought. Nowhere near as scary as being this drawn to him, though. It was so much more terrifying to think that she might actually be attracted to him.

She eyed him speculatively. She often forgot how handsome he really was. Tall and lean, and in superb shape, vampire or no. She shook her head in disbelief at her fantastical musings. 

Wake up, Buffy! This is _Spike_ for God's sake! What are you thinking?

Spike averted his head, his fingers toying with the scar that hooked through his left brow. If she didn't know any better, she'd say he seemed kinda vulnerable right then. And that was just plain wrong. Cocky and arrogant - yes, but vulnerable? No way.

He exhaled deeply, cast his eyes upward in resignation and then leisurely closed the gap between them.

"Slayer." 

The solitary word was uttered succinctly, knowingly, as though running into her was an inconvenience he'd been prepared for.

"Why are you back in Sunnydale?" The question sounded accusatory even to her ears. 

"Missed me, did you, pet?" Spike inhaled of his cigarette, a sarcastic smile curved around its filtered end.

"Don't call me 'pet'." The rebuke was an expected, automatic response, something she'd been doing for as long as they'd been acquainted, but she was surprised at her reluctance to snap at him. Strangely enough, she _had_ missed him.

He canted his head and regarded her silently. Away from the direct gleam of the streetlight, his eyes seemed dark and fathom-deep, the lucid blue she'd observed hidden in shadows. She resisted the disorientating urge to drag him into the light so she could gaze at that lucidity without reprisal.

"Well", he said. "You look ... alive." He paused and flicked his cigarette to the ground. "Still."

"And you're still dead."

"Yeah." He grinned at her - a very disturbing and startlingly genuine grin. It sent goosebumps racing up her arms and she shivered, wrapping her arms around her body protectively.

Spike frowned. "You shouldn't be patrollin' on these cool nights, Slayer, you might catch somethin' other than evil vampire hordes."

"What do you care?"

"I don't." The grin returned. "I couldn't give a toss, actually. Just a suggestion."

Buffy's inner sense was reeling. Where had this twisted, mind-numbing attraction sprung from? Had it been lurking there all along and she'd somehow been unaware of its gruesome presence? Was she sick and perverted?

"You're not sick. The perverted bit sounds interesting, though."

Spike's voice seemed to rumble directly in her ears, but she had been watching him the entire time and his lips hadn't moved. In some incomprehensible way he was transmitting his thoughts. And he'd read hers.

"Get out of my head, Spike."

"Now, you'd think that'd be done easily enough," he spoke aloud this time. "'Easy' doesn't come into this scenario." He quirked an eyebrow. "I find that happens quite a bit around you, love."

Buffy gritted her teeth. "Don't call me 'love'." She'd forgotten how nerve-gratingly annoying he could be. The urge to snap at him returned with a vengeance. "What _exactly_ is going on?"

"_Exactly_?" Spike scratched his chin. "You want specifics?"

Buffy fought against an overwhelming desire to smack him in the mouth. He was either deliberately drawing out his explanation, or he didn't know what was happening and didn't want her to know of his ignorance.

What _is_ happening?

"Just a handy little trick I picked up while I was on my worldly travels." Spike's smile lurched into smirk territory.

"Damn you, Spike."

"Too late for that." He fished about for another cigarette and came up empty-handed. He rolled his eyes, pivoted on a booted heel and headed back toward his crypt.

"You are _not_ walking away from me!" Buffy declared.

Spike's stride didn't falter and she eventually surrendered to morbid curiosity and followed him.

Irritating, undead, pain-in-the-ASS.

"I heard that, Slayer." Spike didn't so much as glance over his shoulder and Buffy poked out her tongue at his leather-clad back.

They entered the crypt. He'd left several candles burning and even in their gentle radiance she could see that it hadn't improved since her last visit, with no decor to speak of and everything dusty.

"You do realize that this whole thing is majorly creepy," Buffy informed him as he bent to retrieve a pack of smokes from behind the stone sarcophagus he used as a bed. "Even for you."

He straightened and frowned at her. "What do you mean 'even for me'? I thought nothing I did surprised you. I'm disgusting, remember?"

She studied him, suddenly captivated by the play of candlelight over his angular cheekbones. They were lethal, those cheekbones.

Spike pulled a cigarette from the new pack and placed it between his lips, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she was watching him. When he lifted his head and met her eyes, though, she knew that he was far from oblivious - very far.

How was it possible for a cold, soulless vampire to have so much heat in his gaze?

"Is that a rhetorical question?"

Buffy glowered. "Would you stop that?"

"Now, why would I do that? It's very enlightening." He pulled the unlit cigarette back out of his mouth and gestured at her with it. "There's actually more going on in that pretty little head than meets the eye."

"What goes on in my head is none of your business."

He shrugged. "If you insist."

Buffy felt like pounding something against a brick wall - preferably him. "You are the most impossible person I have ever met," she said. Then remembered that he wasn't a person. Not really.

"That's right, pet. You stick to that." He tapped his own chest. "Nasty demon. Horrible blood-sucking monster." He grinned that unbelievably genuine grin again. "Big Bad."

Buffy smiled despite herself and acknowledged that he was right. Technically he was all of those things, but somehow the practical application didn't seem to work. Nothing fitted him anymore. Not since the chip.

Spike hopped up to sit on the hard slab of his casket. "Bloody stupid chip," he announced blithely.

Buffy gaped at him. "Are you saying that you don't want it out anymore? That you've suddenly come over all warm and fuzzy?"

Spike glanced away uncomfortably. He swung his legs a little and Buffy was amazed by the innocence he projected at that moment. He looked like a big kid, the candlelight casting a golden aura about his head. She sighed. She just couldn't get used to the non-bleach thing.

"Why the deep and heavy?"

The soft question made her jump. "Huh?"

"Big sigh, Slayer. Got something on your mind?"

"Switched off the Buffy-channel?"

"Re-runs," he muttered, placing the still unlit cigarette back in its cardboard pack and shoving it deep into his pocket.

"Re-runs?" She repeated absently, noting that he'd apparently decided to stop painting his fingernails as well. She raised her hand. "No, second thought, don't want to know."

"Good." Spike seemed relieved. "I'm not up to the telling of it."

Buffy was now regretting her reluctance. That had _really _sounded interesting. What could he hear that she couldn't?

He drew himself up straight and regarded her. "Worried about my insights? Think I'm gonna pick up on something I shouldn't?"

"No!" 

Damn. Too fast with the reply. Too defensive.

He slid off the casket and stood toe to toe with her, forcing her to tilt her head and look up at him. She was again enthralled by the clearness of his eyes. It shouldn't be possible for someone to have eyes _that_ blue. Or lashes that thick. Or lips that velvety soft. Stop it, Buffy, you're getting sidetracked!

"See somethin' you like, love?"

The query came softly, tantalizingly, a forbidden whisper. He was in her head again. She tensed and made to step back, but he curved a restraining hand around her arm.

"Spike..." Intended as a warning, his name instead passed her lips like an invitation. Not good. Not good at all.

He slapped a hand to his forehead and wrenched away violently. 

"Ow!" He winced. "Don't _think_ so hard!"

Buffy couldn't remember thinking anything - her mind had pretty much gone blank. Was she in shock?

"Alright, I get the point." Spike scowled at her. "You can stop shoutin' at me now."

"I didn't..." Buffy started to protest, confused, only to gasp as he slumped to the floor next to his casket, his head in his hands.

"Bloody hell, this is worse than the chip." He began to shake. "I _said_ I got it, okay?" His muffled voice became choked. "Shut up!"

She understood then that whatever he was picking up on was not coming from her. And he couldn't turn it off.

"Jeez, Spike, what have you done?"

He gazed up at her beseechingly. His eyes were glassy with pain, their tear-filled clarity hitting her like a physical blow.

"Make it stop," he pleaded, and she was lost.

~*[+]*~

Rupert Giles groaned as the insistent tapping invaded his already fitful dreams. "Go away," he muttered. "We're closed."

The tapping progressed to pounding. 

"Giles!"

He sat up abruptly from the table where he'd been dozing when he recognized that the desperate voice he was hearing belonged to Buffy. He tugged an unusually adhesive sheet of paper from the side of his face and straightened his glasses. 

He'd apparently slept through nightfall and could see Buffy's street-lit form pacing outside the half-closed blinds of the Magic Box's front window. The window itself rattled as she again hammered at the door.

"Maybe I should just knock it down," she said, muffled.

Giles shot to his feet and hurried to pull the door open.

The first thing he noticed was that she was extremely distressed.

The second was that she hadn't been talking to herself. A man sat on the path near her feet with his long legs tucked up and his back resting against the wall. As Giles watched, he lowered his already bowed head onto his knees and whimpered.

Buffy knelt at his side. "We have to help him," she said, her voice breaking. "He hurts." Her fingers stroked his rumpled golden hair in a soothing motion and Giles realized that she wasn't even aware she was doing it. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. Who was this person and what was he to Buffy?

The figure on the footpath emitted a deep inhuman growl. His head snapped upright and he pinned Giles with eyes that seemed to glow with an otherworldly power. They were familiar eyes. Eyes that Giles had not expected to see ever again.

"Good Lord!" he exclaimed. "Spike?" He took an involuntary step back, surprised not only at the vampire's condition, but at the curious effect he seemed to be having on Buffy. What was going on?

"Help me get him inside," she said, taking hold of Spike's elbow.

Giles shook his head to break his reverie and bent to comply. "Yes, of course."

Spike was having none of it, however, continuing to stare at Giles, who, in turn, felt himself being drawn back into the vampire's gaze as if hypnotized.

"Know it," Spike said. His voice was low and seemed to carry a disembodied echo.

"I – know what?"

Spike leant forward, ignoring Buffy's attempts to pull him upright, and placed his left hand on Giles' temple. "_Know it_," he repeated forcibly. The unusual light in his eyes flared the fierce blue of an intense flame, and warmth emanated from his normally cool fingertips.

Giles felt a pulse pounding in his ears but could not discern whether it was his own or if it was somehow, impossibly, coming from Spike himself. A disquieting pins-and-needles sensation crawled across his scalp and he realized that the voice he heard was entirely in his head. Spike had not uttered a single word aloud.

The vampire winked at him, revealing a fleeting glimpse of his usual arrogance, before a benevolent smile spread across his chiseled features and he slumped against the wall. He reached for Buffy's hand and held it as though it were a lifeline. "My Slayer", he murmured and promptly fell asleep.

Giles sat back on his heels, stunned, and looked at Buffy to gauge her reaction. She was watching Spike as he slept, apparently overcome with exhaustion. Their hands remained linked, but it was the unadulterated tenderness evident on her face that made him swallow with a sickening apprehension. Dear God, it was happening again. 

Spike's comment repeated in his subconscious, its deep tone mocking him. 'Know it', he'd said.

Giles knew.

And he didn't like it.

~*[+]*~

Stupefied. It was the only word she knew that came close to describing the expression on Giles' face. Either that or 'landed fish'.

Buffy had seen it before. She knew that he would snap out of it pretty soon and then the questions would start. Giles was big on questions. The problem was that she wouldn't be able to answer any of them. Spike probably could, but he still hadn't woken up.

She smiled, remembering the vampire as she'd left him - flat on his back on the sofa in the danger room, his jaw slack and his mouth slightly open. He slept like the dead. Ugh! Bad pun, Buffy, even for you.

"Buffy?" 

Great, her Watcher had come out of his shocked state and had started articulating.

"Before you can get on with the interrogating, Giles, I don't have any idea what is going on."

Giles frowned, then opened his mouth to ask something else. Buffy cut him off. "I don't know _why_ Spike's back. I don't know _how_ that weird thing with his eyes started _or _how in the hell he was reading my mind."

"He – he was reading your mind?" Giles' eyebrows shot so far upward that they almost flew off his forehead. "But that's..."

"Impossible?" Buffy snorted. "Tell me about it. It's also freaky beyond belief."

"I can imagine." Giles sank onto the seat opposite hers.

"Betcha can't." She flipped open a book on the circular study table but wasn't really interested in the arcane script it contained.

"Um, Buffy, regarding Spike..." Giles was hesitant now, almost reluctant, and she knew exactly where the conversation was headed.

She closed the book and focused on her Watcher. "I can't explain it, Giles. As soon as I saw him..." She sighed. "He's got a major charisma thing going on that I didn't notice before. He was like this supercharged magnet and he just pulled me in."

"You weren't attracted to him before this?"

"No! No, absolutely not. Don't be ridiculous." At Giles' skeptical expression she lowered her eyes. "Well, kinda. Maybe. A little - a _real_ little. Like atom-sized little."

Giles stood and began to pace. "Vampires possess an abundance of charisma. It's one of the techniques they use to lure their victims." He stopped pacing, pulled off his glasses, and cleaned them with his handkerchief. "Slayers are supposed to be immune to it." He gave her an ironic half-smile. "You, on the other hand, seem to be unusually susceptible."

"But this is – it's _Spike_! He's - I just can't..." Buffy threw her hands in the air. "Aargh!"

"Well put," Giles applauded dryly, replacing his glasses.

"Bloody hell."

Spike's voice came from the doorway to the danger room where he rested uneasily against the frame. He glared at them, his eyes red-rimmed and heavy-lidded. "Sodding headache," he grumbled. "Sodding Keratos demon."

"Keratos demon?" Giles was instantly alert.

Spike shuffled over to the table and gingerly sat down. He leant forward and rested his forehead against its polished surface, groaning in an exaggerated fashion.

"Spike?" Buffy didn't know whether she should laugh or offer some kind of assistance.

He rolled his head to one side and looked at her. "What?"

"Keratos demon?" Giles prompted. Buffy could practically see him salivating at the prospect of some research.

"Should've gutted the conniving bugger," Spike remarked. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and forced himself to sit upright. "Oh God, that hurts!"

Buffy stared, stunned at seeing the golden tumble of his hair under the florescent lights.

Spike opened one eye and peered at her. "What?" he asked again. When she didn't answer he glanced upward, trying to see what she was so interested in, and smiled on realizing the source of her fascination.

"It's hair, Slayer," he said. "I notice you've got some of your own."

"Yeah, but..." she gestured helplessly.

"Okay, so it's blond," he blurted defensively. "Big deal. You didn't think that peroxide was my natural shade, did you?"

Buffy hesitated. He was being a bit ultra-sensitive about the non-bleach issue. "It takes some getting used to I guess," she said. "I just won't look at you."

He blinked as he digested the statement, and then turned to Giles. "Ever come across a Keratos demon, mate?" he asked.

"I – actually, no I haven't. Their psychic powers are legendary, of course. The Watcher's Council have an extensive selection of volumes..." Giles trailed off when he realized that Spike wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention. He was watching Buffy from beneath his lashes instead - his brooding visage reminding Giles eerily of another, equally besotted vampire. So much so that felt compelled to ask, "Spike, have you somehow managed to get your soul back?"

"Hell no!" Spike was horrified. He grimaced at his own raised voice and clamped a hand over his eyes. "Ow."

Buffy smiled indulgently, resting her chin on her hand. He was cute when he was in pain. She loved seeing him like this. She sat up straight at the thought. Had she just used the word 'love' in reference to Spike?

He glanced at her and, noting the change in her posture raised his eyebrows questioningly. "Got somethin' to say?"

"Why don't you dive on in and see for yourself? You didn't have a problem with it before."

"I didn't have a post-Keratos migraine before."

"What did this demon _do _exactly?" Giles asked, recognizing that they weren't going to resolve the issue unless he intervened.

Spike ducked his head. "It doesn't matter."

"It matters," Buffy argued. "It matters big time."

"Leave it," Spike growled. "It was stupid. _I_ was stupid and now it's over."

She leant forward. "Your being stupid doesn't come into it. That's a given thing."

He recoiled slightly, something flashing in his eyes that gave her pause. She'd seen the same expression on his face before, but its meaning had never properly registered. It was hurt - she had hurt his feelings.

Hang on a sec – Spike had _feelings_?

She narrowed her eyes. "Are you _positive _you didn't get your soul back?"

Spike shook his head. "I'm not gonna answer that," he said. "It's insulting."

Buffy sniffed. "This coming from Mr. Tactful."

He rested his elbows on the table, bringing his face level with hers. "Be honest. You missed me, didn't you? Truly?"

The laughter dancing in his vivid blue eyes stole her breath. He was enjoying this. She felt a responsive smile tug at her mouth and repressed it. "I'm not going to answer that," she told him. "It's insulting."

Giles cleared his throat. "The effect that this demon had on you is significant, Spike, even if you don't want to admit it. It's imperative that we are aware of all..."

"Oh, alright." Spike threw up his hands in mock surrender. "Just cease the verbal haranguing would you?" He rolled his eyes at Buffy. "I don't know how you stand it."

She ignored him and tapped her finger on the book she'd opened earlier. "Don't you have enough info in the A to Z of yuck stuff?" she asked Giles.

"Keratos demons are extraordinarily rare," he said. "I believe that the last recorded encounter was in the vicinity of eighty years ago."

"I've run into this pillock three times at least," Spike noted. He appeared to be rapidly returning to his normal self – as normal as that got. "'Course, most demons are pretty much alike. Slimy. Scaly." He pulled a face. "Smelly."

"Three times?" Giles was astounded. "Where?"

Spike's brow furrowed as he made a show of searching his memory. "Um, first time was India. Early 1900's." He shrugged. "The other was here in the good old U.S. of A. 1960's. And then this last..."

"1960's?" Buffy stared at him. "Were you a hippie?"

"I was at Woodstock," Spike informed her importantly.

"Isn't that like an oldie catchphrase?"

Giles sighed. If this continued there was no chance of his getting the information he wanted. "Are you going to tell me what happened, or am I going to have to separate you two?"

"I'd buy tickets to that show." Spike slouched back in his chair and dug into his duster pocket for his cigarettes. When he finally excavated the pack, an increasingly irate Watcher confiscated it.

"No smoking," Giles stated, indicating a nearby sign.

"Oh, and inhalin' incense is good for you?" Spike snorted but made no further protest. "Right, then, where was I?"

Giles sighed and rubbed at his forehead, beginning to feel that the vampire's headache was somehow contagious.

"I got the Keratos to divulge a few trade secrets is all," Spike related, apparently resigned to his story-telling fate. "Hooked up with him in Mexico at that Day of the Dead thing they do." He drummed his fingers on the tabletop and cast a wistful glance at his impounded cigarettes. "Tequila's handy for loosenin' up the old tongue. Well, _tongues_ as the case may be. And this demon's quite the imbiber. Not too crash hot at pool, though." He smiled to himself in amused reminiscence. "The extra appendages tended to get in the way..."

"These 'trade secrets' you mentioned," Giles inquired. "What did they entail?"

Spike's attention flicked briefly to Buffy before returning to the Watcher. "Details aren't vital to the narrative here," he said. "I just wish the wanker had been more forthcomin' about the skull-crackin' side effects."

"You got a demon to teach you how to get inside my head?" Buffy sputtered in disbelief. "Are you completely insane?"

"Beginning to think so," Spike mumbled. Only Giles picked up on the statement and he frowned worriedly at the vampire.

"What did you say?" Buffy asked. Spike refused to look at her and she turned to Giles. "What did he say?"

"I..." Giles barely got his mouth open.

"I said 'yes', okay?" Spike snapped, frustrated. "I'm insane. I'm seriously deluded. I am the friggin' mother of all nutcases."

"You got that right," Buffy huffed, folding her arms across her chest.

The unearthly light in Spike's eyes rekindled and shot angry blue fire in her direction.

Buffy backed away. "Uh, Giles," she gestured across the table. "He's gone all glowy again."

"So I see," Giles scrutinized Spike carefully. "From what little I've observed, any kind of overly strong emotion seems to set it off."

"Emotion?" Buffy scoffed. "It is _Spike_."

"Hey, I've got emotions," he told them. "I'm a sensitive guy." He straightened up as something occurred to him. "I'm not gonna get another of those sodding migraines am I?"

Giles pursed his lips in sympathy. "You might."

"I'm gonna hunt that demon down," Spike declared vehemently. "I'm gonna pull his bleedin' horns off and shove 'em fair up his..."

"Maybe if you calmed down, it'll stop," Buffy suggested.

"You think?" Spike seemed pleased at the prospect. He smiled.

This time Buffy sensed when the wave of emitted charisma hit her, causing her heart to trip inside her chest. In that stumbling heartbeat, he became the center of her world. It was as though she was seeing the room through a camera lens and he was the only thing in focus. Giles was relegated to a black-and-white blur in her peripheral vision and Spike was in full glorious Technicolor.

She blinked rapidly, fascinated at the discovery. "Wow," she breathed.

Vampire and Watcher frowned synchronously and exchanged blue-eyed glances – one bemused, and the other deeply concerned.

"What's up with you, Slayer?" Spike asked.

"You're such a hottie," she announced, then slapped a mortified hand over her mouth.

Spike winked at her. "Are you just now figuring that out, love? Been tryin' to tell you that for years..." He paused and scowled. "Hang on..."

"It's something we discovered while you were recuperating," Giles interjected. "Buffy's Slayer ability to block your, shall we say, 'vampiric allure' has been somewhat reduced."

"But I'm not sendin' any," Spike seemed honestly perturbed. "Not purposely. Believe me, if I was, _you'd_ be in the same condition. It works much the same on blokes." He leered evilly. "Wonder if she'd get a double-bang if I..."

"Don't," Giles looked ill. "I'd prefer not to have that image burned onto my cerebrum." He did a double take and raised surprised brows at the vampire. "Your eyes appear to have returned to normal."

"Yeah?" Spike's reply was distracted. He watched Buffy with a predatory intensity. She avoided looking him, her embarrassment almost tangible.

"You really have a limited attention span don't you?" Giles remarked. He picked up an ancient tome from the table. "I'll find what I can on this Keratos demon and you two can..." He glanced from one to the other and visibly shuddered. "In any case, I'll be up in the loft."

He grabbed several more volumes from a nearby shelf and climbed the precarious iron staircase, leaving Buffy and Spike to regard each other in silence.

Buffy recovered herself first. "What aren't you telling us?"

"Hey, I spilled. I didn't have to say anything at all." Spike ferreted around a few books and then peered searchingly under the tabletop. "Sodding Watcher pilfered me fags," he muttered.

"I don't understand why you smoke anyway," Buffy said. "It's not like you'd actually get any pleasure from it. You're dead."

"Speak the obvious much?" Spike got to his feet. "Why do you Scooby-types constantly remind me of what I am? It's not gonna slip my mind anytime soon."

"Maybe I'm reminding myself," Buffy mumbled under her breath. She pointed her finger at him. "You're not throwing me off the subject that easily, Spike. You're hiding _something_."

"Am not."

"You've got to be. It's what you do."

"Do not."

"You're not going to say, are you?"

"Say what?" He tilted his head inquisitively.

Buffy slumped back in her chair, defeated. "Okay, fine. Do the kiddy-defense thing. I don't care."

"Right, then. I'm off." Spike started towards the exit, but halted before ascending the steps to the foyer. He sighed and turned around. "I _am_ sorry about this, Buffy," he said.

She stared at him in askance. "You called me 'Buffy'. You never call me 'Buffy'. Why are you Buffy-ing?"

"I'm being sincere, Slayer. Don't make a big deal."

"What you're doing is admitting that the glowy-eyed head thing is your fault."

"Well, duh! Didn't I say that earlier?"

Buffy approached him menacingly. "Tell me _exactly_ what happened in Mexico, or I'll pull that chip out through your nose."

He snorted. "Nice visual, love."

"Spike..." She drew the name out threateningly.

He folded his arms and thrust out his chin in that smug, stubborn way that only made her want to hit him.

"Look, how many times have we done this routine? Just tell me and get it over with."

He reached up and gently brushed a stray tendril of hair off her face. "Where's the fun in that?"

She blinked, disconcertion rendering her speechless. 

Giles chose that moment to return from the upper floor, worry creasing a map of lines on his forehead. He looked up from the book he carried. "We may have a problem."


	2. Kinda Wiggy

****

Chapter Two - KINDA WIGGY

"Spike is unwell."

"That's gotta be the smartest thing I've ever heard you say," Buffy deadpanned. Spike growled at her.

"I am very serious," Giles insisted. "I found reference in _Negra Malo _of a vampire infected with something called _El Poco Amor Serpiente_."

"'The little love snake'?" Spike grinned lecherously. "That being in _no way_ suggestive of course."

"Of course," Giles repeated, distracted. "Demons can, and do, pass on infections in much the same way as humans, by sharing close contact or bodily fluids..."

"Ew," Buffy wrinkled her nose. "Spike, did you swap spit with the Kera-thingy demon and it's tongues?"

"That is beyond gross, Slayer. Besides which, it was _male_."

"Hey, whatever."

"..._Or_," Giles continued, frowning at the bickering couple. "Psychic connection."

"Psychic what?" Spike's mouth dropped open. "I'm sick?"

"It certainly appears that way," Giles said. "I'll have to conduct some further research, especially as I can find no mention of the outcome of this case, symptoms, duration, or even if it's curable." He peered at them both over his glasses. "We will have to quarantine the shop until I can ascertain..."

"Quarantine?" Buffy blurted in disbelief. "You mean I have to stay here? With him?" She indicated Spike with a jerk of her thumb.

"And myself," Giles smiled wanly. "I also had some kind of psychic contact with him."

"You did?" Spike raised his eyebrows. "I don't remember that." He smirked. "Was it good for you?"

"Not particularly." Giles put a hand to the back of his head, recalling the unpleasant feeling of pins-and-needles that had rippled across his scalp.

Buffy watched the gesture with interest. "He said something majorly icky, didn't he?"

"'Icky' doesn't quite cover it," Giles said carefully.

Spike ignored them. "I'm settlin' in then," he said, shrugging out of his duster and draping it across the counter. "Where's the telly?"

Giles flipped over a page of the book he held. "I don't have a set in the shop."

"What?" Sheer disbelief crossed the vampire's face. "I'll miss 'Passions'. Timmy's lost, you know, and if they don't find him in time..."

Buffy sat back at the table. "I'm sure you can pick it up in a month or so and still know what's going on."

"A month?" Spike placed fisted hands on his narrow hips. "Hopin' that's an exaggeration." He tilted his head towards Giles. "An exaggeration, right mate?"

Giles adopted a distinct deer-in-the-headlights expression. "I'll try to find out." He hurriedly worked his way back up the stairs.

"This doesn't rate real high on my happy scale," Buffy disclosed as Spike began pacing back and forth in front of the counter.

Spike made a disbelieving noise and kept moving. Buffy watched him for several laps, then said, "Have you ever been diagnosed with a personality disorder?"

He stopped mid-lap and glared at her.

"You've got traits that kinda point to ADHD," she continued. "Have you tried Ritalin?"

"I'm not a subject in your bleedin' psych class, Slayer. Knock it off."

"Classic case," Buffy said.

Spike came toward her then, moving with a slow, sinuous grace.

"I'm not a classic case of anything," he told her. "There is nobody else like me." He leaned down and placed his arms on either side of her chair, bracing himself against the table. "I'm uniquely unique."

Buffy gasped at his nearness, inadvertently inhaling the faint aroma of smoke and leather that was distinctly Spike. She shivered and closed her eyes, only to re-open them at the sensation of his fingertips under her chin.

He'd brought his face level with hers, so close she could see the tiny laugh lines radiating from the corners of his infinitely blue eyes. The sheer intensity of those azure irises was spellbinding.

Don't look directly into them! The thought came almost desperately, a cry of self-preservation. She pressed a restraining hand against his chest, feeling the soft jersey beneath her palm and the solid muscle beneath the softness.

But no heartbeat, her mind protested. No warmth. He's a vampire, Buffy!

Neither noticed Giles pop his head over the edge of the loft and then retreat again like a scared rabbit.

"What are you doing?" she asked, not sure, even as the words were uttered, if the question was directed at him or herself.

"C'mon, Slayer, I know you feel it too." Spike's low voice was hypnotic, almost a purr. He smiled lazily as his thumb brushed across her lower lip.

Buffy backed up as much as she could and lashed out with her foot, catching him just above the knee. He collapsed backward in an epithet-spouting heap.

"You're doing this on purpose," she accused, rising from her seat in agitation. "You're manipulating this whole damn situation." She made to kick him again but he grabbed her booted foot and twisted it sharply at the ankle. Losing her balance, she landed on her back with a resounding thud.

Giles encored his scared rabbit impersonation at the noise.

Buffy panted, angry and a little winded.

A cool hand curved around her throat. "Like it rough, Slayer? I'll remember that." The hand squeezed gently, a tender threat, and then Spike released his hold. "I can't hurt you, pet."

Buffy turned her head to find him crouched at her side. He traced his fingers down her cheek. "I can't hurt you," he repeated. Then he stood and walked away.

~*[+]*~

Jeez, Buffy. Confused much?

She remained on her back, lying on the Magic Box's polished floor. Ten minutes had passed since Spike had executed his strategic retreat to the danger room. Ten minutes of trying to focus on something – _anything_ – other than the effect the vampire was having on her.

It had to be something to do with the 'love snake' thing he'd been infected with. Had to be, or else it became too bizarre to even think about. No contemplating of the feelings here, Buffy. He'll get over this bug and everything'll go back to the way it was.

Giles appeared in her line of sight, peering down uncertainly. "Are you quite alright?" he inquired. "I didn't think you'd fallen that hard."

"Didn't fall," Buffy said, uncomfortably aware of the dual meaning of her words. "Haven't fallen."

Denial. That'll work.

Giles glanced around the shop. "Spike..."

"Danger room."

The Watcher sighed. "Good," he said, relieved. "I thought he might have left."

Buffy raised a hand to her face, remembering the cool caress of Spike's fingers. "No, he didn't leave," she said, then moved to a sitting position. "Giles, what's going on? Why is this happening?"

He said nothing for a full minute. Buffy counted.

"_El Poco Amor Serpiente_", he stated finally, sitting down at the table. "The more I read about it, the less I like it."

"That bad?" Buffy joined him. "We're not stuck here forever, are we?"

"No." Giles pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Well, that's good, right? We like good. Yay for good-ness."

"It is a consolation," Giles admitted. "However, certain effects of this malady _are_ lasting."

"Oh." Buffy's spirits dropped. "Good of the not-so-much variety. Is Spike gonna die? More permanently, I mean?"

"Again, no."

"Are we?"

"Buffy, perhaps it would be more advantageous if you would allow me to explain in full."

"As long as it doesn't involve a slide-show. Or lots of big words."

Giles gave her a quelling glance. "It would also be best if Spike joined us for this."

"Already listenin', mate."

Spike peeled away from the wall he'd been leaning against for the last few minutes and set himself atop the counter. He ignored Buffy altogether. "What's the prognosis?"

Giles cleared his throat nervously. "This condition is usually confined to a particular tier of demon anthropology..."

"Big words," Buffy muttered.

"...Those of empathic or psychic castes - the Keratos demon specifically being a documented carrier." Giles opened his notebook and read directly from it. "The Serpiente infests the emotional core of its host. It cannot exist at all unless emotions are present. This is why it primarily infects those demons that have a capacity for, or who are already in love." He raised his eyebrows at Spike. "Technically, vampires are soulless and incapable of such things."

"Watcher's Council crap," Spike sneered. "Of course we can be in love, you pillock. Why else d'you think I stayed with Dru for over a century? For my health? For fun? Let me tell you, it was rarely fun. She's not a well girl, you know."

"Understate much?" Buffy asked. "Not like you to gloss over the truth, Spike."

"So I'm loyal as well. Sue me."

Giles sat back in his chair and resumed reading from his notes. "The Serpiente remains in a dormant state until it is activated by the host attempting telepathic connection with the object of its affection." He paused as the implications of what that meant registered with his audience.

Buffy's jaw dropped and she turned stunned eyes to the vampire. Spike said nothing, acknowledging the truth of the statement with his silence.

"If the connection is made and the object returns even a modicum of feeling," Giles went on, "Then a permanent link is established."

Buffy had continued to gape at Spike, but was roused from her horrified perusal by the Watcher's pronouncement.

"Permanent? How permanent? He's not gonna be popping into my head for the rest of my life, is he?"

"It's entirely possible," Giles replied, almost sadly.

"Spike, you jerk."

"Oh yeah, blame me," he glowered at her and she tried to ignore the blue spark that flared in his eyes. "Returned feelings, Slayer. Want to explain that?"

Buffy crossed her arms defensively. "No."

Spike smiled and turned to the Watcher. "What about the screaming migraine and the glowing? Also a permanent fixture?"

Giles rummaged through his notes. "From what I've determined, those are fairly typical indications of the union taking place. Both should abate in time."

"And this Serpiente isn't physical. I've not got a reptile-type thing taking up residence?"

"No, no. It's only a metaphorical description."

"Right then. All cleared up. I'm going home."

"You can't just leave," Buffy protested.

"Tag along if you want, Slayer." Spike pulled on his duster and tilted his head at Giles. He extended a hand to the Watcher and clicked his fingers. "Fags," he said.

Giles retrieved the vampire's cigarettes from a shelf and handed them to him. Spike flashed him that eerily genuine grin and left the shop without a further word.

Buffy pouted and eyed Giles. "He knows something."

"His attitude was rather... cavalier."

"Bet he knew exactly what he was doing and the Kera-thingamajig was in on it."

"Still, that is a rather intricate sequence of events, Buffy. Not foolproof in any respect..."

"Guessing that means tricky," Buffy sighed. "Spike's not above being tricky. But then this wouldn't have happened at all if I hadn't felt anything."

"I'll admit that is the part that I'm having difficulty with," Giles said. "You care about Spike?"

"Somewhere deep - way, way deep, is a part of me that kinda likes him," Buffy reluctantly admitted. "I know how sad that is. But he's strong. He's brave. He's _extremely_ cute. If he wasn't a vampire and didn't have a tendency to annoy me to death, I'd date him."

"Well, that's..."

"Hey! Was that whole 'Spike, you're such a hottie' deal because of this?"

"Unfortunately", Giles couldn't disguise his distaste. "Enhanced attraction is another symptom and you were, in effect, linked to him from the moment he initiated contact."

"But that's not gonna keep happening?"

"I hope not."

~*[+]*~

Spike sprawled in his armchair, his sculpted features dappled with the light from the flickering television. He muttered at the set, cursing the bad transmission, but despite his earlier protestations about missing his favorite soap, the drama failed to hold his attention. 

He wasn't sure what he was feeling at this point. It was all muddled. 

Everything had seemed so simple, at least the way Apollyon had explained it. Either his Kera-speak wasn't up to scratch or the demon had skipped a few key points. Of course, he'd been so drunk at that stage, he'd latched on to the basics of what the Keratos had said and paid scant regard to the fiddly details.

He was linked to the Slayer.

The irony alone was murder. And, to quote the Scoobies, it was giving him a major case of the wigs.

Spike frowned. He'd hit rock bottom. Spouting Scooby gang vernacular just didn't cut it as Big Bad. His unlife had become a complete and utter cock-up. 

He leaned over and switched off the television set, leaving himself in relative darkness for a moment while he lit a cigarette. He inhaled deeply and then eyed the burning tip between his fingers, contemplating his addiction. The Slayer was right, it didn't give him any pleasure. I was just something to occupy his hands. If he didn't have his fags he'd probably have pulled Sunny-D apart by now.

The Slayer. There was another addiction that didn't give him any pleasure. He really didn't know why he even bothered. Perhaps she, too, had become a habit.

He recalled the earlier admiration in her gaze, her reaction to his proximity, and amended the thought. Definitely not a habit - more like the reason for his existence. He sighed. You're hooked good and proper, Spike old boy, and you know it. Hooked and linked.

Spike pivoted in the chair, turning so that his head was supported by the armrest and his legs hung over the side, and wondered how this mystical linky thing worked exactly. He stared at the ceiling and concentrated, imagining her big green eyes and bouncy shampoo-commercial hair.

Buffy, Buffy, Buffy...

And then he could feel her.

Deep in his inner self was the subtle hint of another presence, bringing with it the disturbing sensation that he was being watched. The hairs on the nape of his neck stood up. He attempted to focus on the nebulous feeling, and in a white-hot burst of static, coupled with a momentary vertigo, he was linked to Buffy Summers.

Spike lay utterly still, savoring the connection and trying to get his bearings. It wasn't the same as before. Not like being inside her head. That had been an impersonal reading-over-her-shoulder vibe. This was a warm, sharey-carey sort of deal, like walking hand-in-hand with someone you love. He also had a distinct sense of completion, as though someone had slotted in the final piece of a jigsaw puzzle.

He smiled, despite the tears welling up in his eyes. He hadn't felt this alive since... Well, since he'd been alive.

Spike was aware that he could speak to her if he wanted and that she'd be able to reply, or even initiate the contact if she chose. He didn't know how he was so certain of this, but he did not question the knowledge. It was just there. 

He started as a burning pain stung his fingers and he dropped the offending cigarette stub onto the stone floor. 

Bugger the fags - this was better than fags. Hell, this was better than sex. Then again, maybe not. Fervent speculations of sex with the Slayer proceeded to corrupt his train of thought. Sex while linked. Oh mate don't go there...

Spike had the sudden realization that Buffy could probably perceive what he was thinking and cringed. Sure enough, her deceptively calm voice was the next thing he heard.

"Get out of my head, Spike." A brief pause. "Now!" There was no mistaking the threat in her tone and he grinned.

"Make me," he taunted. God, he was happy!

"I mean it, you pervert."

"Oh right, like you don't feel how this is."

"How what is?"

"Don't mock it, Slayer." Her denial of what she was experiencing angered him. She was so stubborn. "You can't tell me you don't feel _something_. Not this time. It's like..." He floundered for a description.

"It's like coming home."

Spike heard the sighed comment a split second before their connection was severed. He floated for a moment, disorientated. Finally he comprehended what Buffy had said - what she had felt. Elated, he stretched and reached over to switch the telly back on. Unlife was looking up. All he needed now was a nice fresh dose of B-positive...

~*[+]*~

Buffy fought the urge to scream. She wasn't about to spring a heart attack on Giles, especially when he was already staring at her like she'd lost it. Maybe she had.

At first, she hadn't understood what was happening. An explosion of white flashbulb had somehow originated from _inside_ her head and then he'd just been there. She'd waited for the usual revulsion to set in, but all she could sense in his unwanted presence was comfort and an unconditional love, like childhood memories of her mother's embrace. She'd accused Spike of the warm and fuzzies, but she'd never expected the depth of that warmth. Or that the fuzzy would be so overwhelmingly soft. 

In spite of that, or because if it, there was a part of her brain that couldn't get past the fact that it was Spike who was generating this blissful aura. It hadn't ever crossed her mind that he might _feel_ stuff. She'd continually been told that you needed a soul for that and Spike did not have one. 

So the Watcher's Council had screwed up again. Not surprising, really. They tended to have a bias when it came to vampires. Buffy just hadn't realized that she'd been harboring a bias of her own. 

Angel - it always came back to him. Angel and the gypsy soul-curse saga had thrown her for an emotional loop and skewed her whole outlook on the vampire situation. Now Spike was creating a shiny loop all of his own. A brand-spanking-new roller-coastery loop so huge that it wouldn't have been out of place in a theme park.

Buffy smiled reassuringly at her Watcher. 

"I'm okay. I just had a little Spike interaction going. It was kinda wiggy."

Giles' lips twisted, but he didn't comment. She knew that he didn't entirely get the vampiric attraction thing and that the Serpiente link was freaking him out. She'd have to deal later. For the moment it was best to act as normally as possible. 

She forced an enthusiastic grin. "Are we getting the gang together on the research gig?"

"Yes, that's probably a good idea. Willow especially may have a better perspective than I."

"Sure. Wills is up with the psychic linkage. Tara, too." Buffy pondered for a minute. "Maybe we shouldn't mention this to Xander. He might wanna stake Spike or something. And who knows what that'd do to me."

"It may very well solve the problem."

"Giles!" Buffy stared at him, aghast. "That's harsh."

"I could never comprehend why you had such a hard time killing Spike. Why you still haven't killed him, despite the chip."

"I _know_ him! It'd be like ... murdering you or one of the gang. Besides which, he's harmless now. He can't hurt anyone." Giles opened his mouth to protest and she glared at him. "And why are you bitching at me? If you hate him so much, stake him yourself."

"Well, I - I have to concede that he can be quite ... charming at times. And he has been helpful on occasion, but this link already seems to have brought you closer together. If we take too long in finding a cure, it may be too late."

Buffy frowned at him. "What do you mean 'too late'?"

"You may be completely inseparable. Two parts of one mind."

"You didn't say anything about that before."

"No, I discovered that wonderful news after Spike had already left."

Buffy stared at him, and all pretence of normalcy evaporated. "Giles, I'm scared."

He gazed at her sympathetically. "I know." 

~*[+]*~

Buffy tossed restlessly on the danger room's battered sofa, Spike-related deeds moving through her dreams like a slow-motion horror movie. 

Blood. There was so much blood.

Shocked into wakefulness, she threw her arm across her eyes as if to block out any further visions, drawing the arm back again when she realized her face was damp. She'd cried in her sleep. Why in the hell would she have done that? Sympathy for Spike's victims? Maybe. But it somehow felt much more personal.

She sat up and shrugged, trying to shake off the oppressive feeling. Dark and heavy wasn't her - it was more an Angel-type deal. At the thought of her ex-lover, Angel's face flashed before her eyes.

No. Not Angel, but the soulless Angelus, his yellow demon eyes radiating pure venom as he thrust a sinister-looking dagger into unyielding flesh. 

Buffy shuddered, drawing an uneven breath. This was a memory, she realized with a sickening certainty, but not one of hers. 

It was Spike's memory. 

Those terrible things she'd been dreaming had not been _caused_ by Spike - they'd been inflicted upon him. It was his pain she'd been feeling, his suffering. All that disgusting, unspeakable torture and he'd endured it with an amazing strength of spirit.

How could she even _pretend_ to hate him now?

"Buffy?"

At Willow's tentative query, she straightened her shoulders and wiped at her face. "Hi Wills," she greeted the redheaded witch with cheery bravado, but was betrayed by the shakiness of her voice.

"Uh huh," Willow crossed her arms and gazed at her friend with concern. "Giles filled me in on the sitch. Are you, like, okay or -? No," she answered her own question, "Not okay. If I had Spike in my head that'd be..." she paused. "'Creepy' doesn't seem adjective enough."

"It's not," Buffy gave her a watery smile. "Creepy, I mean."

Willow raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

"Well, it is and it isn't," Buffy amended. She sighed and slumped back against the sofa. "This is so confusing."

"Understandable," Willow sat alongside Buffy and sympathetically patted her shoulder. Then she frowned. "No, it isn't. How can it not be creepy? I mean, Spike, he's like way high on the creepy meter. And, hello, tried to kill us. A lot."

"Weird as it sounds, I don't think he really meant it," Buffy said. "I can't get it across all explainy, but I can feel what he does. And there's a lot of feeling there. Major, major feeling."

"From Spike?" Willow glanced at the door leading into the Magic Box. "Giles did kinda mention that, in a skimming over way."

"He is so wigged about this."

"He's totally gone into super-research mode out there," Willow giggled. "The books are piling on up. Tara and me had to practically wade through."

Buffy took a deep breath. "Spike loves me." 

There. She'd said it. Out loud. And it somehow became more real. 

Oh God, Spike loves me! How bizarre is that?

Willow stared at her, nonplussed. She blinked owlishly. "He - he does? Is that even possible? I thought..."

"Apparently 'no soul' does not equal 'no heart'," Buffy snorted. "Bloody Watcher's Council got it wrong again."

"That link must be pretty strong, you're soundin' like Spike now."

"Huh?" Buffy frowned.

"'Bloody Watcher's Council'?" Willow quoted her eyes wide.

"Great," Buffy grimaced. "Like the dreams weren't enough."

"Dreams?"

"Some kinda residual effect from the link. I'm getting Spike's memories in all their blood-soaked glory."

"Really?" Willow wrinkled her nose. "Gross. But, c-can you see ... um, what about, you know, Drusilla?"

Buffy's brow furrowed. "Actually her mega-psycho-ness has been a complete no-show." She glanced at Willow. "That's gotta be wrong. They were together for so long, how can he not have memories of her?"

"Maybe he's keeping them repressed," Willow suggested. "If he loves you, he might be getting all protecty or something."

"I don't think it works like that."

"You could ask," Willow prompted. "Or you could try linking up and having a little ol' look-see."

"Poking around in Spike's head is just too gruesome an idea. Can you imagine what kind of crap he's got stored up in there?" Buffy shivered again as Angelus' demonic countenance flashed behind her eyelids. She exhaled heavily, fighting a wave of nausea. You'd think that in her line of work a bit of blood would be passe by now, but she never usually saw that much of it. Vamps dusted, they didn't spurt. 

"Are you okay?" Concern reappeared on Willow's face.

"Will, it was awful," Buffy blurted. "Angelus tortured him. I saw it - felt it. He did horrible, horrible things..." 

A blinding white flash alerted her to Spike's presence. Completely ignoring Willow's startled gasp Buffy shot bolt upright. She could sense immediately that he wasn't pleased.

"Don't think of feeling sorry for me, Slayer," the vampire's tone was icy-cold. "The last thing I want from you is your bleedin' sympathy."

"How did you -? I don't..."

"Denying it won't work", his bitterness twisted in her gut. "I won't have it, understand? Any of it. Especially from you."

"Angelus?"

"You're aware of the hate there, pet. You never cared to know the why of it."

"I thought, because of Drusilla..."

"Don't mention her name," Spike's essence distanced itself guardedly.

"You're hiding stuff again," Buffy accused. "What don't you want me to know?"

"Hey, I'm tryin' for a bit of privacy here. If your Watcher succeeds in his cure huntin', we're not gonna stay like this. And I don't want to be giving you any more ammunition than you've already got."

"Defensive much?" 

"This works on a two-way basis, love. You wanna keep something hidden, then you best lock it away."

Buffy hadn't thought of that. But then, there wasn't really anything that she couldn't tell him. That surprised her until she remembered that he'd consistently been there when she needed him - even when he'd been actively trying to kill her. He listened when she had something to say. Angel never had. It was always the 'That's nice, Buffy' and the patting of the head.

"Bloody poof," Spike jeered.

Buffy, for once, couldn't bring herself to argue with him.

"Right then," Spike said, satisfied. Buffy felt his wry smile. "Sod off, Slayer."

She laughed out loud as he severed their connection, drawing Willow's intrigued gaze. 

"Was that?"

Buffy smiled self-consciously. "It must look insane from the outside. In a totally out-of-the-tree Dru-ish kinda way."

"Yup," Willow nodded. "You're also weirdly happy. That's nice. Leaning over towards twisted, but nice."

"It's all the love-vibes he keeps sending. I mean, even when he's pissed, it's there, like running underneath."

"Has he told you? Straight up, face-to-face?"

"He's ignoring it." Buffy tipped her head as something occurred to her. "You know, he was fine until he found out about the link. I think he probably would have kissed me if I hadn't kicked his legs out from under him."

Willow's eyes grew impossibly wider. "Did you want him to?"

Buffy blushed. "That's part of the link, right? The whole 'enhanced attraction' deal."

"Yeah, but enhanced being operative. The attraction part musta been there already." Willow blinked. "Wow. That's wild. I mean, um, Spike's cute and all, but..."

"Already up on how sick it is. Living the sick-ness."

"You hid it pretty well. With, you know, trading the insults and the frequent kicking of his butt. Not to mention the entire organ-dropping incident."

"It was way easier before the chip," Buffy said. "Since then, he's one of us. A Scooby. Patrolling. Killing demons. Kinda hard to be distant."

"Impossible now, huh?" Willow sighed in commiseration. "Why'd he come back anyway?" she asked. "He's been gone for months."

"Jeez, Will, wait till you see him!"

"That good?"

"Oh yeah! No! I mean, it's just his hair..."


	3. Linkapalooza

****

Chapter Three - LINKAPALOOZA

Spike couldn't sleep.

He knew it was day from the diluted sunlight filtering through the crypt's barred windows and from the creeping lethargy that always accompanied the light. Unfortunately he was too preoccupied for a nap. Too wired. It was almost like a real bad case of blood buzz - a condition he'd been fairly susceptible to in the good old days when he'd been able to kill people.

He fidgeted in his chair, kicking at the duster he'd draped over his legs like a blanket. Something about this link didn't sit right, and he couldn't quite figure it.

The original intent of it had been to determine how Buffy truly felt about him. That hadn't gone so well, even if it did confirm her attraction to him. 

He should be pleased that he'd actually been right about that all along. He _should_ be rubbing her smug Slayer nose in it. He _should _be taking advantage.

Should be, but he couldn't bring himself to it. Sodding conscience did him in every time.

Spike didn't know how he even had a conscience in the first place. It was just there. He did sometimes get the impression that a fragment of his former soul was still present - a trace of that insipid fop William. Most of the time he'd been able to keep it at bay, but lately the thing had been working overtime. The instant he contemplated anything even resembling evil he got a severe case of the what-ifs. Not to mention the crippling guilt about the stuff he'd _already_ done. A hundred years of misadventure had ganged together and whacked him upside the head with a huge chip-shaped reality bat. 

Reality sucked.

He smiled at that. Actually, his reality _didn't_ suck. It kinda slurped. It sometimes even sipped. Sorry, kids, no sucking allowed. He was living on carryout these days, and not human either. He used to find the lack of fresh-killed food disheartening, depressing really, then he recognized that he'd allowed himself to get into brood-mode, acting not unlike a certain sire of his. 

Spike's smile twisted into a sneer. 

Bloody Peaches and his self-righteous attitude out there giving vampires a bad name. _'I've got a soul and you haven't ... I'm so much better than you are'. _The thought annoyed him no end. Of course he had to admit that there was the Buffy Factor to include in that annoyance equation. He didn't like contemplating the idea of _his_ Slayer being with Angel at all. 

Spike burrowed further under his duster, pulling it up to his chin. He used to ridicule Angel and his Buffy fixation, and look at him now. Obsession didn't begin to cover the situation. It was nauseatingly laughable. Someone in charge had a bizarre sense of humor. 

He sighed and leant his head back to contemplate the intricacies of the cobwebby ceiling. 

Maybe another link-up was the way to go. Maybe a little Buffy-sparring session would relax him and then, just maybe, he'd be able to get a beat on whatever the hell was bugging him about this bloody link in the first place.

~*[+]*~

The Magic Box's door chimes jangled alerting Willow and Tara to the arrival of Xander and Anya. They looked up from their research and exchanged a worried glance. 

Anya gave them a disinterested look and went behind the counter. She opened the till and began counting the money.

"Hey, what's with?" Xander greeted them, gesturing at the multiple book stacks piled on the table. "Did I bypass the bat signal?" He glanced up as Giles descended from the loft.

"We're, um, just browsing for a s-spell," Tara offered.

"Yeah. Just a spell. Just a little, unspecial, circumspecty spell," Willow agreed with nervous effusiveness. "No biggie."

Xander stared at her, and then looked to Giles. "And Alfred _always_ enjoys a spot of full-on spell huntage for reasons of the non-particular."

Giles blinked. "Was that even English?"

"All these years and he still can't translate Scooby," Buffy commented, coming in from the danger room. She narrowed her eyes meaningfully at the assembled group. "But still, nothing's up. Right guys?"

"Right," Willow beamed, patently lying through her teeth. Tara fidgeted uncomfortably.

"Here's an idea," Xander said. "How about we play 'let's tell Xander the truth'. 'Cause, gotta tell ya, sucking at this nifty lying game."

Anya came to stand at his side. "Who's lying to Xander?" she asked. "You shouldn't lie to Xander. That's wrong."

Buffy unexpectedly stood to attention, her spine snapping into rigidity. Her eyes lost focus and she stared blankly into space.

Anya glanced at her. "That's wrong, too."

Xander gaped. "Buff?" She didn't reply and he turned worriedly to Willow and Tara. They appeared unfazed. "Huh?"

"Incoming message from the Big Giant Head-ache," Willow quoted, her smile twisting with irony. "You'd better be off sittin' down. 'Cause this might take some time."

"Again with the 'huh?'" Xander waved a hand in front of Buffy's face. She didn't so much as blink. "Is she okay?"

"She's fine."

Xander peered inquiringly at Giles. The Watcher nodded reassuringly, but seemed inclined to ignore the oddity.

"I thought I said 'not now'," Buffy exclaimed abruptly. "I swear to God..." Her voice trailed off.

"Also not liking the talkin' to the big fat no-one," Xander frowned. 

"I've seen this before," Anya reported, nodding a little. "It's a demony thing."

"Like _that's_ gonna happen," Buffy scoffed, folding her arms across her chest.

"It's kinda like eavesdropping, but on the uninformative half," Xander said. He sat down at the table and halved a pile of books so that he could see Willow.

"It certainly is," she said.

"So who's on the other end?" Xander continued to observe Buffy as she went on arguing with the invisible someone, her silent debate occasionally springing to life in vocal bursts. Freaky. Familiar freaky. In fact, she only argued like that with one other person...

"Oh man. _Spike_?" Xander's disbelieving gaze swung back to Willow. She met his eyes a little sheepishly.

"Um, yeah, well ... there's a reason."

"A good reason," Tara chimed in.

"Well, I should think so," Anya declared. "Because everyone knows telepathic connections to demons are never a good idea without a reason."

Buffy snorted loudly, startling everyone. They watched as she lowered herself to sit cross-legged on the floor, her head tilting to the side as though she was contemplating something of interest. Her eyes remained completely unfocused and she wore a bemused smile. "Oh yeah, since when?" she challenged.

"Am I the _only_ one with the wiggins?" Xander asked. 

"Pretty much the Lone Wigger," Tara teased shyly.

"She's been havin' the on-offs for a while now," Willow told him. "You get used to it."

"Hey, having the Evil Dead invading our Buffster is not something I wanna get used to!" 

"And so say all of us," Giles applauded. He'd been strangely quiet up to this point.

"Workin' on the un-invasion," Willow said. She held up a book to Giles. "What about?"

"No, no. The Rites of Tadu are for possession by Chann demon." He paused, thinking for a moment. "There may be something of use in the Tadu Rituals Appendices, however."

"How're the Tadu Rituals different from the Rites of Tadu?" Willow frowned. "Soundin' all alike now."

"The Tadu Rituals are a century older," Anya supplied, sitting alongside Xander and reaching for a book. "And much more boring."

Buffy started laughing. They ignored her.

Xander was incredulous. "She finds him amusing? Spike's barrel-o-laughs boy?"

Willow focused her full attention on him. "Xander don't."

"Don't what?"

"Just don't." She held his gaze. "Things are hell-in-a-handbaskety enough already."

"C'mon Will! I mean, Buffy and Spike makin' with the ha-has? It's just too freaksome."

"Now honey, don't get all flustered." Anya patted his arm soothingly. "It's not very attractive."

Xander sighed. "What's the what with the thing anyway?"

~*[+]*~

The garishly painted mini-bus that drove into Sunnydale's early afternoon garnered no undue suspicion despite its odd appearance. Its rear windows were blackened - a stark contrast to the neon pink of its enameled surface and the gigantic yellow smiley-face decorating the driver's door. If the citizens of the Hellmouth-town had cared to look more closely, they would have seen that the driver himself was nowhere in the vicinity of normal.

Apollyon the Keratos demon perched awkwardly on a seat that was much too small for his cumbersome form, his claws hooked inexpertly around the wheel. 

"Soon", he said. "Nigh the destiny."

A giggle sounded from the rear of the vehicle.

"You sound funny," a childlike voice proclaimed from out of the darkness. "Like swimming turtles."

Apollyon was used to the girl's strange turn-of-phrase, but the analogy was beyond him. The most accurate description he'd yet heard of his voice was a comparison to Darth Vader on helium, an unusual correspondence coincidentally made by the very being they had come here to find - the vampire known as Spike.

"Precisely lurks whereby?" he asked, his dual tongues lisping. Comprehension of Kera-speak took some time, the language itself being somewhat limiting, but Apollyon's passenger gleaned his meaning from his thoughts as well as his stilted diction.

The passenger leant slightly forward, evading the direct sunlight.

"Just drive, my pet," Drusilla instructed, smiling serenely. She stroked the scales of his plated shoulder, carefully avoiding the protruding set of perceptive tentacles. "The stars have told Mummy where to find her beautiful deadly boy."

~*[+]*~  
  
"So, Buff's on Deadboy Junior's speed dial and if we can't find this spell, then its full-on linkapalooza," Xander summarized.

"And after what seems like hours of trying, that sounds essentially correct," Giles nodded tiredly. "At this point I'm finding myself at somewhat of a loose end. We're fast running out of options."

"There's a time limit?" Xander opened a book and rapidly flipped the pages. He stopped suddenly as a thought came to him. "Wait. Color me wacky, but why don't we just stake his limey ass?"

"I've already suggested something similar," Giles said. "Buffy was not receptive to the idea."

"It's not an option," Buffy stated firmly, rising from her position on the floor.

"You're back with us I see," Giles did not sound particularly pleased.

"You bet," she gave him a wide smile. "I'm free to forage."

"And Spike?" The name curled distastefully on Giles' lips.

"He's a-sleepin'."

"Well, its about time," Willow remarked. "A little while longer and it'll be time for gettin' up again."

Buffy frowned. "How long have I been out?"

"This last session was almost an hour," Giles said. "Buffy, I did warn you of the hazards of continuing with the link."

"Yeah, I know. Permanent. Inseparable. Two halves of one mind. Blah-blah-blah. Gotta tell you, right now its not sounding overly bad."

There was dead silence as they all stared at her, perplexed.

"Kidding! Jeez, can't you guys take a joke?"

~*[+]*~

Spike woke from his long overdue afternoon nap with the innate knowledge that there was someone - or something - in the crypt with him. An insidious sense of familiarity permeated the knowledge, twisting it into the shape of someone he knew.

"Who's there?" he asked into the darkness, already dreading the answer.

"Someone who'll make it all better again."

"Dru?" He stood up in surprise, his duster slithering down to puddle on the floor at his feet. He looked at it for a moment and then bent to pick it up.

Drusilla emerged from the shadows of the crypt's doorway, her pale face ethereally beautiful in the subtle light.

"Ooh, behold my William!" She bubbled. "All the colors of the rainbow." She reached out toward his unbleached hair.

He shrank back, suspicious, holding his duster in front of him like a shield.

"Why are you here?" He hoped she wasn't planning anything too fiendish, he'd hate to have to stake her.

"I've brought a house guest," she replied, moving to enfold him in her arms. "Are you going to ask us to stay?"

She hadn't turned up with one of her hellish boyfriends, had she? Spike really hoped that it wasn't another Chaos demon. He didn't want slime dribbling on his floor.

"Not until you explain what this is about," he told her, evading her embrace and pacing away to the other side of the crypt. He draped his duster across the sarcophagus with a reverential care.

"I want you at my side, my darling," Drusilla informed him, pouting prettily. "You belong with your Mummy like all the little children."

Spike frowned at her.

"In case you've forgotten, love, _you _dumped _me_. I'm not gonna come running back to you now. I'm not that pathetic anymore." At least he hoped he wasn't. He guessed that the Slayer would debate the fact. And quite strenuously too.

"Everything should be as it was," Drusilla insisted. "Everything should be topsy-turvy and delicious." She ran the tip of her fingernail across her lower lip.

"O-Kay." Spike wasn't sure how to take this. A year ago this would have been his dream come true, his dark princess begging him to come back. But this wasn't a year ago. Things had changed. _He_ had changed. He didn't need her to need him anymore. He folded his arms. "So who's this house guest then?"

The heavy wooden door swung open at the question, slamming into the adjacent wall, and an enormous form all but filled the entrance. Spike was in a defensive fighting stance before he even realized. 

It was absolutely huge, brawny, and covered with scales of a sickly greenish color. A series of long prehensile tentacles grew from its armored shoulders and a coronet of barbed horns decorated its massive reptilian head.

"Of Keratos," the beast cheerfully announced, throwing its muscular arms so wide that black claws accidentally gouged the stone on either side of the opening. A peculiar guttural sound shaped its words and they were accented by a tremulous whining. 

Spike recognized Kera-speak when he heard it and he lowered his fists. The Keratos might resemble a hideous monster, but he was one of the gentlest creatures Spike knew.

"Oh great, it's you." He relaxed for a moment - relieved that this wasn't one of the sporadic attacks he'd been subjected to since the chip. He couldn't deal with some half-baked vengeance-seeking vamp as well as his ex. Then his temper flared. "Apollyon, you scaly sod, what the bleedin' hell did you put in my head?"

The demon's head turned at a ninety-degree angle and he regarded the vampire with one inquisitive green eye. "Specific be," he lisped. "Did asked as."

"Yeah, I know I _asked_ you how to read a human's mind, but you neglected to tell me of your bloody social disease problem." He pointed angrily at his temple. "Its not like I haven't already got something foreign crammed in here."

Drusilla watched them with a self-satisfied smile playing across her lips. She swayed a little from side to side, her long skirt brushing against the floor.

Spike recognized the expression as one he was well acquainted with. He narrowed his eyes at her, wary. "What do you know of this, pet?"

It was then that he felt the tugging sensation, the probe of swirling black tendrils violating his mind as she tried to get in. He'd seen her do this to countless others but she'd never attempted it on him and his head reeled back in surprise. 

"What are you doing?"

Drusilla's eyes widened and she moaned softly. As she began retreating backward in horror, the moan rose steadily into a distressed howl.

"All wrong. It's all gone wrong," she ranted, pulling out a fistful of long dark hair. "My Spike, my poor lost Spike, linked up with the nasty Slayer." She hugged herself and sank to her knees, babbling incoherently. "It goes awry and derails. And Miss Edith wants to ride the train."

Spike arched an eyebrow at Apollyon, smiling maliciously as it came together in his head. "You were in on this," he concluded.

"Well was reward," Apollyon's tentacles rippled in a kind of apologetic shrug. He reached forward with a cruelly hooked talon and carefully tapped the side of Spike's head. His unblinking green eyes twinkled with mirth. "Serpiente?"

"Yeah, mate. Thanks a bloody lot."

"The Slayer floats," Drusilla murmured, rocking slightly and weaving the strands of her hair around her fingers. "Laughing around my baby like balloons in the parade. Floating, floating ... confetti in the wind."

Spike blinked at her. Had anything she said ever made sense? 

He wondered at the odd feeling of detachment, the utter lack of sentiment he felt toward the woman who had made him what he was. She was his goddess, his wicked ripe plum. He should be falling at her feet and pleading for forgiveness. All he could dredge up was a surprisingly painful stab of pity. It was the one thing Dru had never previously inspired in him. He'd recognized her illness and loved her in spite of it. Now he was seeing her through unbiased eyes and it wasn't a pretty sight. Maybe he'd never _really_ loved her at all. Maybe he had stayed because of some distorted sense of obligation - that vestige of William rearing its daft romantic head.

"So, let's get this straight," he said, addressing the demon without taking his eyes from the wretched figure on the ground. "Dru wanted to get this Serpiente link set up between me 'n' her, yeah? And you went right along with the plan for a bit of cash on the side?"

Apollyon appeared to be highly amused by the state of affairs. He bared pointed yellow teeth in a ghastly semblance of a smile.

"She wasn't expecting me to come high-tailing it back here so fast," Spike nodded to himself. A certain twisted sense was coming of this now. "Wasn't expecting me to try something with the Slayer." He turned to Apollyon. "You knew, though."

Apollyon guffawed, a frightening cacophony that defied description. "Spike heart book open," he gurgled. "Easy read."

Spike squinted at him. "It is not. Take that back."

The demon's dual tongues flicked out in an impudent manner, a Keratos raspberry.

"All Keratos aware," Apollyon advised. "Assistance repay. Favor does. "

"You thought you were doing me a _favor_?" Spike gaped at him, confounded. "Clueless bloody demon. You needn't have been thinking of paybacks. As far as I'm concerned we're all evened up. Besides, anyone would have done the same." He sighed and contemplated Drusilla, who had lapsed into a state of cataplexy. "And what precisely am I supposed to do with her now?" 

~*[+]*~

Twilight had descended again, accompanied by misty rain. Spike loitered in the dampening shadows of the footpath outside the magic shop's entrance and lit a cigarette. Normally he wouldn't be this apprehensive and he hated it. It wasn't as though the Scooby gang's opinion of him mattered any, or that he was worried about a confrontation with the Slayer.

All right, so maybe he was a little nervous about seeing Buffy in person for the first time since the link had been properly established. It was only natural. She was probably going to kick his ass. That wasn't entirely what bothered him, though. She'd kicked his ass plenty of times before. He had even been known to enjoy it. No, it was the emotional connotations of the meeting that were hanging over his head in a whole proverbial Sword of Damocles deal.

He began to pace, casting agitated glances at the building. Then he realized what he was doing and stopped, blowing out a cloud of smoke. He was startled as a voice came from the street behind him.

"They don't bite, you know."

Spike glanced over his shoulder at Buffy. "Ha-bloody-ha, Summers. Was that a stab at irony?"

Buffy moved to stand at his side. They contemplated the closed door in silence.

"This is gonna be fun," Buffy commented after a while.

"Oh sure, a real party," Spike grunted. "Being hauled over the coals by a sodding bunch of..."

"Hey, those are my friends!" Buffy protested.

"Exactly." Spike took one last drag of his cigarette and flicked it onto the footpath. He didn't want to do this but, as usual, he had no choice in the matter.

"So," Buffy said, stepping in front of him. "Are you going to tell me?"

"Tell you what?" He studiously avoided her eyes, staring off down the street.

"Enough with the evasive, already." She reached up and grabbed hold of his chin, forcibly turning it toward her. There was a slight cracking sound.

"Ow! Bloody hell!" He slapped her hand away and rubbed at his neck. "That hurt, you stupid bint."

"You didn't used to be this close-mouthed," Buffy said, ignoring the flash of guilt at his injury. She wanted an answer. "What happened to the in-your-face, honest-to-the-point-of-insulting vamp that we all know and ... don't like very much?" 

Spike snorted. "And you expect _me_ to lay myself open for inspection? Give up a nice big slice o' Spike?" He shook his head. "You're not ready for it."

He'd much rather face an angry Scooby-mob than bare his unsoul to Buffy. She already knew too much and he wasn't prepared for her to know the rest.

"Can I ask you something?"

"What's that, pet?"

"Did you know that when you opened the link I'd be able to feel everything you do?"

She could feel everything that he ... Oh brilliant. So much for not being prepared. She knew. She bloody knew. Spike was at a loss now and horribly embarrassed. He shuffled his feet, wanting desperately to be somewhere else. The other side of the planet would be good.

Buffy was still talking. "Is it the same for you? Can you get what I'm-?"

He sighed. "It's a bit more vague from this side," he told her, deciding that honesty was his best bet right now, "I'd most likely get the bonus level if you went ahead and made the first move. But I don't expect that's gonna be happening."

She gave him a small sympathetic smile. "Probably not."

He nodded, masking his disappointment, and silence reigned for a few moments.

"So, Spike, how long have you loved me?" Buffy couldn't hold it in any longer, the curiosity was driving her nuts.

"Oh please! Get over yourself! I don't..." Spike began to protest, but rapidly realized the futility of it. "I don't know. Since the beginning maybe?"

He shrugged. "Dru and me started driftin' apart right after we arrived in merry old Sunny-hell. I blamed it on her demented thing with Angelus. Turns out it was me all along." His lips twisted. "I once told her this place was cursed for us," he confessed. "If only I'd bloody known..."

"Cursed?" Buffy was confused. "Were you magic-whacked by gypsies, too? Is that why you're so chock-full with the feelings?"

"Sorry to disappoint you, Slayer, but I've always been able to feel stuff. No soul included." He wasn't near as certain about that as he let on, but Buffy needn't know of that just now.

"Something must have gone really wrong when you were turned," she mused, studying him thoughtfully. "And I mean in a major way."

Spike considered that for a moment. Might be worth looking into. 

"Well I can't help there," he said. "Don't know the full story myself. I can remember Dru doing the draining, but Peaches sired me. They never spoke of it after and I was just happy to be my vampy little self." He grinned. "A huge improvement on the previous existence, I can tell you."

"What's that mean?"

Spike was suddenly aware of how much he'd almost given away. He might have feelings for the girl but no one got close to the real him, not even Dru. 

"Sorry love, this conversation is over." He elbowed his way past her and entered the store, only to come to a halt as a fresh wave of apprehension hit him. 

Damn, he was getting soft. 

Buffy came in behind and shoved him forward. He staggered and then tripped down the stairs, landing heavily on the tiled floor.

Xander stood and began a slow clap. "I'd give that a five for effort. Technique was a little sloppy."

Giles diverted his attention from the book he was reading and simply stared, an intense dislike burning in his eyes.

Willow and Tara leant across the counter to peer down at Spike. 

"Wow ... Oh my, wow. What did you..." Willow exchanged glances with Buffy. "I mean, what _didn't_ you do to your hair?" 

Spike stood and straightened his duster. "Why are you all so bloody fixated on a blokes hair?" he asked. 

"It's new," Anya said. "And different. And a little off-putting."

"What? I can't have a change of image to go with the new improved Spike, now available with neutering chip?"

"And built-in Buffy channel," Xander noted, glaring at the vampire. "I'd say these so-called improvements need an overhaul." He raised a hand. "All in favor of staking Non-Bleach Boy?"

"I've already said that wasn't an option," Buffy told him angrily.

Spike raised his brows at her, surprised. "You did?"

"Yes I did." Buffy's glare took in the whole gang, daring them to say anything further on the Spike-staking issue. "We don't know what it will do to me."

"Your compassion is overwhelming, Slayer," Spike drawled sarcastically.

"You got me on a good day."

"Spike, why are you here?" Giles sounded tired and irritated.

"Well excuse me for thinkin' that you might wanna know a bit more about this Serpiente deal. I'll just be toddlin' off then..." He turned toward the exit.

"You came to willingly provide information?" Giles stared at the vampire skeptically.

"Don't sound so bloody surprised. I'm not altogether happy with the situation, you know. It wasn't supposed to happen like this."

Buffy seized his arm and he looked at her pointedly. 

"Can't keep your hands off, can you?" he asked.

"What wasn't supposed to happen?" she inquired, disregarding his comment. She'd get him back for that later. "Just how much of this were you in on?"

"No need to get all suspicious." Spike thrust his hands deep into his pockets and pulled away from Buffy's grasp. Here it went then. "I only knew of the initial mind-readin' thing. Apollyon was supposed to show me how to read your thoughts. He didn't let on about the Serpiente and he was being well paid not to."

"Paid?" Giles frowned. "By whom?"

Spike hunched his shoulders and gave them an apologetic smile. "Drusilla."

"I knew it!" Buffy cried, throwing her hands in the air. "I just knew it! That skanky lunatic 'ho and her psychotic mind games..."

"Slayer, lay off." Spike spoke quietly, oddly serious, and the gang stared at him in amazement as Buffy complied.

"Hey," Anya was intrigued. "How did you do that?"

"Yes, that was quite masterful, Spike." Giles said. "You'll have to enlighten me as to the trick. There have been numerous occasions when it's been difficult to get Buffy to listen to reason."

"No trick," Buffy protested. "I don't need to be tricked." She scowled. "And that was _so_ not masterful. I just ... really wanna know what he has to say."

"Who's Apollyon?" Tara asked timidly. "Th -That was the name, right?"

Spike rolled his head from side to side. He was really working up a knot of tension here. "He's the Keratos demon."

"The same one that you previously mentioned I presume," Giles began scribbling in his notebook.

"Right. And just my bleedin' luck to get the only Keratos in the world with a demented sense of humor."

"This was a joke?" Xander stared. "Some whatsis-demon did this to you being all practical jokey?"

Spike snorted. "No mate, this was a _favor_." He held up a hand as a murmur of protest rippled through the group. "Not one I asked for, mind, I didn't put in a linking-up request. I just wanted to test a theory."

"A theory?" Giles ceased his incessant note taking and regarded Spike with heavy mistrust. 

"Is there an echo?" Spike exaggeratedly searched around. "I said 'theory' dint I? I _meant_ 'theory'. Is there some reason you lot are making me say everything twice?"

"Don't be defensive," Buffy cautioned. "You get all snappy and sarcastic."

Spike peered at her. "Do tell," he urged dryly. "I'm fascinated by your insight."

"I rest my case," she said.

"So when _isn't_ he snappy and sarcastic?" Xander asked. "I thought it was his natural demeanor."

"Ooh big word!" Spike jeered. "Swallow the Watcher's thesaurus, lackbrain?"

Giles cleared his throat. "Tell me about this theory that you wanted to test."

"Not likely." Spike glared. "It was personal. It's gonna stay that way."

"But..." Giles wasn't used to his authority being questioned.

"The _theory_ was only a motivation," Spike explained slowly, as though addressing a child. "The _theory_ isn't the factor you should be focusing on. The _Serpiente_ is the focus, people. And the _Serpiente_ was an accident - a bloody stupid accident. All on account of Dru being up to her usual no-good." 

He put his hands on his hips and eyeballed each Scooby. "I am not the bad guy, here. You'd do well to remember it."

They had the grace to seem abashed at their treatment of him, and he gave them one of his genuine grins. "Right. Now that's all settled, we found a way to get this linky-thing broke up?"

"Hold up a minute there, mister," Buffy interjected. "How did you find out about Drusilla in the first place?"

Spike sucked on his lower lip. "She came for a visit. Turned up on my doorstep all 'Come back to me Spikey dearest' and expectin' me to fall at her feet like the miserable lap-dog I was."

Buffy's expression turned murderous. "And where is she now?" 

"At the crypt. Actually, more like tied up _under_ the crypt, being watched by our friendly neighborhood Keratos."

"Is that a good idea?" Willow asked. "I mean, she paid him before. If she offers enough of a cash-incentive..."

"Not today, Red," Spike promptly informed her. "She's done a flip-out. It'll take her a couple o' days to come round - maybe longer. I've seen episodes like this drag out for months at a time. Besides Apollyon owes me." The vampire's brow furrowed. "At least, he _did_. Seems to think this link is some sort of positive payback." He shrugged. "Go figure."

"Why are you being so flippant?" Buffy demanded. Giles was right - he was being way too cavalier about this. She stared at him, irritated, and then cast caution to the wind. She was probably going to regret this later, but ... She took a deep breath and concentrated on him - hard. 

Everyone else in the room seemed to disappear.

Spike reeled as Buffy's essence slammed into him full-force, the white flashbulb blinding him temporarily. He gaped at her as emotions flooded him. 

"Jesus, Slayer," he whispered in awe. "Do you understand what you just did?"

Buffy couldn't fully comprehend why she'd initiated the link. She had no clear motive, but had been her first instinct and she went with it, having learned that it was usually the best way to go in most circumstances. The jury was still out on this one. All she knew was that it felt right. Actually, it felt _more_ than right - it felt ... perfect.

"So I get the bonus level after all," Spike registered with satisfaction. 

"Looks like." Buffy stepped forward and took his hand, needing to touch him. She had the impression that he'd become an essential part of her. "How's it feel?"

Spike closed his eyes and absorbed the staggeringly powerful rush of sensation that buffeted him. It brought with it a range of disconcerting side effects - a dull roar in his ears and a trembling in his limbs. He assumed they were a result of being exposed to her humanness. The expression on his face shifted to reveal pure ecstasy, and then he frowned. He suddenly realized that there was something he'd missed.

"Um, Slayer?" he said hesitantly. "My heart's beating."


	4. Plotted Scream

****

Chapter Four - PLOTTED SCREAM

The silence was deafening. If someone had cared to drop a pin, the resulting noise would have had an echo.

"My heart's beating," Spike repeated, staring into Buffy's eyes, his voice shocked and shaking.

"Are you sure?" Willow asked. "I mean, it's been awhile."

"'Course I'm sure." Spike's free hand clutched at his chest. "It's thumpin' away in here like ... a big thumpy thing."

"He's right," Buffy said quietly. She tightened her hold on his hand and entwined their fingers. "We're still linked. I can feel it too."

"Well, this is highly unusual," Giles huffed. "You realize that I'll have to contact the Council now. This is beyond my capacity."

Spike abruptly began to panic. "I'm not human. Am I? I _can't _be human. I don't wanna be human again."

"We don't know what this means yet so don't fall apart on me," Buffy warned. He felt a calming wave flow over him via their link. "We still have Drusilla to deal with."

"Yeah right. Not being alarmist or anything, but _heart beating here_! That's all fine and dandy when you're alive. But then the old ticker stops. Dead. And it's not so bloody funny." He gazed at her earnestly. "Slayer, I'm gonna die!"

"You're not."

"I could pop off at any second. Pow! No more Spike!"

"So could I," Buffy smiled. "It's a mortal thing."

"Human. Mortal. Same difference." Spike looked like he was about to bolt. "Either way it's completely unwanted. Make it stop."

Buffy lifted their joined hands and frowned at them. "You're getting all warm."

"Oh bloody hell!" Spike tried to pull away but she held firm. They exchanged an exasperated glare.

"The Serpiente has most likely reached its permanent phase," Giles was muttering. "I don't suppose that it's ever been established between a vampire and a Slayer before. The resumption of the heartbeat is presumably a incidental result of that bond."

Spike turned to Xander. "Sorry about that earlier comment mate," he said dryly. "Looks like the Watcher swallowed his own thesaurus."

"Yeah," Xander finally found his voice. He was still a bit thrown by the sight of Buffy holding hands with Spike - and _enjoying_ it. He peered anxiously at Giles. "What's up with the lingo G-man?"

"I have told you repeatedly not to call me that!" Giles snapped.

Anya glowered. "That was rude," she said. She smiled brightly at Spike. "I'm very happy that you're now a member of the ex-demon club."

"I'm _not_ an ex-demon," Spike whined. "I'm still me. Big Bad evil vampire. You should all be trembling in fear."

"Go tell that to someone who doesn't know any better," Buffy said. She let herself indulge in the intensity of their link for a moment. "There's no evil intent here," she whispered into his mind. 

Spike blushed. He could feel the heat rising and was helpless to stop it.

"That's so cute!" Willow gushed. She and Tara shared a smile.

Spike was wishing fervently for the ground to open up and suck him in. The only upside to the situation was that Buffy had opened the link between them. It was like nothing he'd ever experienced, and he'd been around for a long time.

There were a profusion of thoughts and feelings projecting from her, but he could sense amid the flow that she was struggling with something and a considerable amount of her energy was tied into that one inner contest. He had a suspicion that he was at the center of the conflict and the thought buoyed him. It was, after all, the place where he was most at home.

"Look," he said. "Someone had better clue me in to what's up. Not as thrilled about this as the rest of you seem to be." He glanced at his and Buffy's joined hands. Well, there you go - there was his silver lining. He gave her fingers a little squeeze.

Buffy graced him with a beatific smile and returned the pressure so intently that his knuckles cracked. All right, so she still wasn't entirely happy with him. He got that.

"I just informed you all that I would have to contact the Council," Giles groused. "I take it no one was listening."

"Only about as much as we usually do," Willow said. "Which I guess is not a lot." She winced sympathetically. "Sorry."

"Hello? Vampire with a heartbeat!" Spike waved his free hand and then paused, considering. "Hang on, I think I'm bloody breathing as well." He cringed as though expecting a blow and inhaled experimentally. He hyperventilated for a moment and then began to cough. "Oh yeah, breathing. This just gets so much better."

"Quit complaining," Buffy admonished. "You sound like a big cry-baby."

Spike glared at her. "You aren't getting it from this side, Slayer. You don't know how weird this is."

Buffy closed her eyes in frustration and her thoughts wafted to him.

"I _am_ getting it from that side, stupid. I know how scared you are. We'll deal with it, okay?"

"Now who's being flippant?" he sent back.

"This is not flippant. I'm more used to dealing with the freaky stuff than you."

"Does the word 'vampire' mean anything to you?" Spike asked. He raised a cynical eyebrow. "And it's a sure thing that spendin' a hundred years with Dru was _never_ freaky. 'Cause we all know how bloody not-freaky she is."

"That's different," Buffy snapped aloud. 

He interpreted the wave that hit him as intense jealousy and grinned at her smugly. "I felt that, you know," he said.

"Felt what?" Buffy dropped his hand like a hot potato and tried to shut down the link. It didn't work.

"Don't think you can run away from it that easily," Spike told her. "Your Watcher said somethin' along the lines of 'permanent', dint he?"

"Oh-my-GOD." Buffy looked ill. "Oh God, oh God, oh God..." She seemed oblivious to the dumbfounded stares of Giles and the Scoobies. 

"You can't blame me this time, it's all your doing." Spike patted at his chest, and then reflexively lay the hand flat, awed by the unfamiliar throbbing in his body. "And that includes this idiotic resurrectiony stuff."

"Oh no," Buffy held up her hand in protest. "You can't lay that on me. If you're getting all blamey, how about your friend Napoleon?"

"Apollyon!"

"Whatever. That whatsit demon put the snakey-thing in your head, how about we go and beat the crap out of him."

"Well I'm always up for a spot of violence." Spike smirked as she rolled her eyes at him. "You're cute when I'm angry, Slayer."

"As entertaining as this is," Giles interrupted, sounding impossibly worn out. "I'm beginning to get a tennis-match class crick in my neck."

"Yeah," Anya agreed bluntly. "How about you two just leave."

"She _means_, why don't you go and do the fighty thing somewhere other than here," Xander hurried to clarify. "We'll stay and pitch the full-on wiggy fit." He smiled tightly. "We excel at those. Lots and lots of practice."

"Patrol then?" Buffy suggested to Spike. "I could dust a few vamps, take the edge off."

"What edge?" he asked. 

"That major Spike-shaped edge that's digging in to my rear end." She smiled sweetly. "Can you feel it too?"

"You really want an answer to that?"

~*[+]*~

Apollyon sat on the tunnel floor and contented himself with drawing patterns on the sandy surface with his claws. His tentacles rippled, stretched out into a wing-like formation and then returned to lie along his shoulders. The lack of stimulating company was tiresome for a demon of his caliber. He couldn't even try probing into the mind of the Drusilla-vamp to break the monotony. There was no way he would be able to reach her in her present state. 

He rumbled to himself in irritation and peered at the vampiress. She rested against the granite face of the tunnel wall, the manacles about her wrists anchored to the stone by heavy chains. She had been shut down for hours now, mumbling every so often about stars and babies, and someone she called Angel. A speculative gleam flared in his eyes. His interest was piqued somewhat by this Angel character - he sounded fascinating. Of course, he would have to check that investigating that interest would have no adverse effect on Spike's welfare. He did owe the vampire a rather large debt on behalf of his entire species.

The irritated rumble deepened to a purr, which then rolled into a guttural laugh. The expression on Spike's face had been extremely amusing, as was his displeasure at learning of the Serpiente. That would change. Once he'd been exposed to the possibilities of the link, there was no way he could be disappointed. This was the road to true happiness for Spike. Apollyon had seen into the vampire's heart and was positive he had done the right thing.

The chains rattled as Drusilla stirred and fixed her wide-set eyes on him.

"I'm very cross with you," she sulkily informed him. "You were supposed to help me get my Spike back."

"Spike to another belongs," Apollyon wheezed. He angled his head and regarded her suspiciously. "Of this aware."

"I could see her," Drusilla admitted. She stared blindly at the opposite wall, her mind wandering. "He tried to hide her from me, but she was like music in his head. A pretty little goldfish swimming all around and in and out." Her gaze returned to the demon and the hostility in her eyes surprised him. "The Slayer shouldn't take my toys without asking, you know. She'll have to pay for that."

Apollyon shifted uneasily, glad that he'd finally agreed to restrain her. He hadn't thought it necessary, but Spike had insisted. The vampire obviously knew his former lover very well. The demon tightened his tentacles closer against his shoulders, not wanting to get his receptors anywhere near such insanity. He couldn't believe that he'd traveled all the way from Mexico with her in his van and hadn't suspected the extent of her problems.

He jumped as the trapdoor from Spike's crypt was thrown open.

"Hey Apollyon!" Spike called through the opening, not bothering to climb down. "Haul your slimy tail on up here! Got someone you'll want to meet."

~*[+]*~

Spike observed Buffy covertly from beneath his lashes as she proceeded to ignore him and settle cautiously in his mangy green armchair. 

On their brief journey to the crypt they had run into and dispatched a round of vamp newbies in the cemetery. She hadn't said two words to him the entire time, and even her essence was distant. All told, she was taking it better than he had anticipated.

"Stop looking at me," she said suddenly, drumming the fingers of both hands on the armrests. "I don't like it when you look at me."

"Why's that?"

Buffy sighed. "I don't know."

Spike smirked. He couldn't help it. "You do so. I make you uncomfortable."

She turned to look at him but didn't comment.

"You know why I make you uncomfortable, Slayer? 'Cause you want me. And that scares you."

Buffy blinked at him. "Your ego must be the size of Alaska."

"Isn't a matter of ego. I can feel it. Always been able to, if the truth be known. Figure that's the reason I never got around to killin' you good and proper."

She opened her mouth to reply, but closed it again as a massive clawed hand emerged from the trapdoor. It dug into the stone floor for traction as it dragged the monstrous body it was attached to from the narrow opening.

"Tight fit, mate?" Spike asked dryly as the demon rose to tower over him.

The beast grunted - a sort of dual grunt that managed to be both high and low in pitch.

"So, Apollyon, allow me to introduce ... the Slayer." Spike gestured grandly and threw her a cocky grin as the demon moved in her direction.

Buffy shot to her feet and stood on the chair to get some extra height. 

"Hi!" She waved cheerfully, hoping that the motion would put him off having to shake her hand or something. "You're way bigger than I thought." She gave him a tentative smile and got a reassuring surge from Spike that unnerved her more than coming face to face with the demon did.

"Don't do that," she sent telepathically. "It puts me off."

"Puts you off what?" he returned. "Runnin' like a scaredy girl?" 

She scowled and he winked at her, moving to nudge the demon conspiratorially. "Makes you wonder what all the fuss is about, don't it?" he said.

"Hey!" Buffy protested.

"Well, you've got to admit, there isn't that much of you, Slayer. You're a mite scrawny. 'Specially when compared to teeny little Apollyon here."

"How tall is he anyway?"

"Don't know. Never cared to estimate." Spike gazed up at the demon. "Vicinity of ten foot?" He frowned at Apollyon who had yet to say anything. "Struck dumb by her beauty or somethin', mate?" he asked.

Buffy blushed. "Shut up," she hissed. Her eyes widened as the demon's tentacles extended in her direction.

Spike sensed her panic and gave her a quick mental embrace. "Don't get violent. He's just gonna do you a bit of a reading," he told her. "It's sort of a Keratos formality. He won't hurt or anything."

"Oh sure. Look what he did to you."

Spike hesitated for a second. It was a good point.

"I'm gonna trust you," Buffy continued. "But so help me, if you're wrong..."

Her voice trailed off as a set of Apollyon's tentacles made contact with her temples, their ends grasping like suction caps. Another set came to rest lightly on her chest, as though testing for a heartbeat. There was an instant when she thought she was going to faint, a kind of floaty out-of-body experience, and then it was over. The demon shuffled back a few paces and grumble-squeaked at Spike.

The vampire bestowed Apollyon with the biggest, warmest smile she'd ever seen him produce - the subconscious joy radiating from it enveloped her like a fuzzy blanket.

"What?" Buffy demanded, suspicious. 

"Just confirmed somethin' that I might've sussed out already." 

Spike's joy seemed to have an edge of giddiness to it. She felt light-headed on his account and sat back down.

"I don't love you, if that's what you mean."

"Believe me, Slayer, I'm well aware of that." His happiness dimmed a fraction and his smile took on a tight edge. "The possibility is there, is all. A bit of potential. You feel _something_."

"Okay, I'll admit that I don't hate you - as much. How's that?"

"Enough. For now."

The Keratos interrupted, and Buffy took advantage of Spike's distraction to contemplate her feelings a little more closely.

Could she love Spike?

Well, there was the million-dollar question. And no lifelines left either.

She was undeniably attracted to him in a physical way. At this point she had to admit that she always had been. They had sparkage. That wasn't a problem. So what was?

The vampire thing also appeared to be a non-problem at the moment, considering the whole heartbeat and breathing scenario, so she could scratch that one too. 

Scratching that left a huge portion of the slate bare. Not of the good. She was running out of cons. And the pro column was growing longer. 

She'd already told Giles about the strength and the bravery, and when you included that he seemed to be in love with her. True love - the melty, chocolatey, hearts-and-flowers kind that you got in the movies. She was fascinated at the idea of it, but a bit horrified as well.

This was William the Bloody, a guy who'd earned his charming nickname by ramming railroad spikes through people's heads. He'd been trying to annihilate the whole Scooby gang for years. That he hadn't achieved his goal was unimportant. He'd tried. He'd enjoyed trying. And he'd rubbed their collective faces in that particular fact over and over.

She sighed. It was the microchip factor that was throwing her reasoning off. She couldn't deny that Spike had changed. With the link active she could detect the soft underbelly that he'd managed to keep hidden all this time, but was that softness a permanent thing? Would his caring nature alter if the chip deactivated?

She blinked and looked up to see that Spike and the Keratos had finished their conversation. Both were staring at her.

"Well," Spike drawled, "That was ... interesting."

"You could hear that?"

"Some." He puffed out his chest and folded his arms across it, regarding her seriously. "The chip didn't change me," he said finally. "Not the way you think. All it did was curb some of the killin' instinct. The whole slaughter of innocent humans bit. Everything else is exactly the same as it was."

"I don't believe that." Buffy said. "I _can't_ believe that."

Spike took a breath, but she sensed the question before he voiced it.

"Why not?" she asked. "Vampire bad - Buffy kill. See? Black and white. Sacred duty. You're a whole pencil sketch of shades, Spike. It screws up the outlook."

"So I'm what? An anomaly now?" He glanced at Apollyon as though seeking backup. "I'm not the only demon that colors outside the lines, Slayer. We're all different."

The notion came to Buffy as a revelation. 

"Like people," she observed. Why hadn't she thought of that before? Why had Giles neglected to teach her?

"Like people." Spike approved, nodding. "And there's why the likes of the Watcher's Council haven't cleared the ranks, and never will." 

He squatted down in front of the chair, trying to convince her of his sincerity. "Life's stained in all shades of grey, love. It's not always clean - it's not always neat. You can't pigeonhole 'Good' and 'Evil' into simple 'Human' and 'Demon' types, there's both in each." He frowned. "That didn't come out right."

"But I understand what you're getting at," Buffy slumped back into the armchair. "You realize that you just debunked years of Slayer training in less than a minute."

Spike shrugged. "Needed debunking, then."

They smiled at each other, sharing a moment of complete harmony.

"Oh, and here's a little tidbit for you," he put in brightly, suddenly feeling the urge to aggravate her. "That's _not_ how the nickname came about. Don't be believin' everything you've been told. Those Watchers of yours are mightily attached to preconceived notions."

She stared at him, the demand for an explanation on the tip of her tongue.

Then Apollyon started screaming.

"Bloody hell!" Spike yelled, slapping his hands over his ears.

Buffy did the same, but the gesture did little to minimize the noise that continued to come from the demon in an endless wail, like a police siren.

Spike's voice came in Buffy's head. "Whatever's givin' him the willies, he'll just keep on 'til it stops. Downside of him having two sets of lungs."

He sounded like he was in pain and Buffy belatedly remembered that vampire hearing was more sensitive than hers was. She frowned at the thought. Wasn't he human now?

"Yeah, I noticed that." Spike's voice came again. "Seems some vampy perks have decided to hang 'round." He gave her a mental smile that manifested physically in his eyes. "I'd bolt outside to check on the daylight situation, but blowin' away in the breeze doesn't appeal."

"That's not funny," Buffy rebuked. "And also not important. How the hell are we supposed to get him to shut up?"

Spike stared at the erupting Keratos for a moment, weighing his options. He flashed her a mischievous grin and headed for the battered old chest next to the television. He rummaged around inside and emerged brandishing a baseball bat.

"Just knock him out," Buffy said. "Don't kill him." 

"No killin'. Promise." 

Spike wielded the bat with a practiced ease and it connected solidly with the back of Apollyon's head. The demon swayed slightly, but did not fall. The screaming continued. Spike stared at him, perplexed, and then hit him again. And again. Nothing happened.

"Bugger," Spike muttered. He glanced sheepishly at Buffy, who watched with growing amusement, her hands still covering her ears. "What?"

Buffy merely raised her eyebrow at him. "You're doing a great job there, Paul Bunyan. Keep chopping."

Great. Even in his head she sounded sarcastic.

He offered her the bat. She rose from the chair and accepted it with a small bow. She smiled evilly and swung it in a wide arc. The subsequent cracking sound made Spike wince, his eyes shut tightly. That had to hurt. 

The demon's screaming ceased for a merciful ten seconds and then started back up.

Spike opened his eyes and gaped at the Keratos in disbelief. Buffy exhibited a remarkably similar expression, but hers was directed at the now splintered baseball bat in her hands. Splintered right through the sweet spot.

"That's just bleedin' perfect." The vampire was annoyed now. He'd had that bat for fifty years - it was his favorite. "Can I kill him now?"

"I'd like to see you try." Buffy angled her head and eyed the demon. "Got any rope?"

Spike caught a mental indication of her plan and went back to rifle through the chest. This time he triumphantly held up a large roll of industrial cable. 

Buffy narrowed her eyes at it. "I'm not going to ask why you've got that. I don't want to know." She shook her head. "Really, really don't want to know."

Together they managed to gag the still spouting demon and stood back to admire their handiwork. Apollyon was now positioned awkwardly on Spike's chair with most of his upper body wrapped in cable. He continued emitting noise, but it was now subdued to a quiet whine.

"Can he breathe with his mouth tied shut like that?" Buffy asked.

Spike shrugged and wiggled a finger in his ear. "Don't rightly care. I just want this bloody whistlin' to stop." He paused for a moment and tipped his head from side to side. "Think he might have perforated me eardrum."

"Good thing you don't need it to hear me," Buffy teased in his mind.

"You realize that we worked this whole thing without talkin'?" 

Buffy contemplated that. "We did?" They had. What did that mean?

"Means we're a team."

"It _so_ does not! There's no team. And there's definitely no 'we'."

"And the lady does the 'protest too much' routine - as per bloody usual." Spike sighed, casting his eyes toward the ceiling. "Don't know how you get on denyin' everything that doesn't fit in that convenient round hole you've got set up."

Buffy gnawed at her lower lip and stared at him. She didn't have to open her mouth. The words 'square peg' shot out at him loud and clear.

Spike ignored the message, gave the whining Keratos a final once-over and ambled toward the trapdoor. "Don't know about you, but I figure Dru's got more'n a bit to do with this," he said.

"I know. You know I know. I know that you know that..." Buffy stopped speaking and waved her hand dismissively. "Whatever. We both know - what we know."

"That's a lot of knowin' there, Slayer." Spike did the genuine grin thing again and headed down into the tunnel. Buffy caught the gleefully unspoken "We" before his head disappeared from view.

She gritted her teeth. He was so exasperating. A literal pain in the neck.

Well, not with the literal so much anymore. Why did she have to keep reminding herself of that?

"Oi! Blondie!" Spike's voice bellowed in her head. "You'd best get down here."

"Blondie," Buffy muttered before descending the wooden ladder.

~*[+]*~

Research, better known in the Xander Harris dictionary as 'a full-on wiggy fit', continued unabated at the magic shop, although all but Giles were ready to concede defeat.

"She's coping with it really well," Willow said. "We should just let her cope. Shouldn't we?"

Tara squeezed her partner's hand. "I agree. We'd be better off letting this play out on it's own." She smiled lopsidedly. "Who knows, maybe he'll upset her so much she'll stake him on principle."

"And hope does the Snoopy dance," Xander said wistfully.

"I don't see why you're so opposed to Spike anyway," Anya put in. "I know I wasn't around when he was all evil and trying to kill you and stuff, but he's nice now." She paused for a second and thought it over. "Actually he's like me. We've got a lot in common."

"Huh?" Xander stared at his girlfriend. "Ahn, honey, that's not true."

"Sure it is." Anya began ticking off points on her fingers. "Both of us spent a long time doing nasty things, both really old, both ex-demons in human bodies..."

"But we're not positive that Spike's hundred percent human," Willow said. "Are we?"

"Breathing and a heartbeat count as human in my book," Anya declared. 

"Would you all just shut up!" Giles snapped, finally reaching the end of his tether. He slammed his hand onto the table with a loud bang. "There is no conceivable way that I am going to allow Buffy to remain linked to that detestable vampire. If you're not going to help, then I suggest you leave."

The Scoobies peered around at each other in shock. Giles was never this mean to any of them, with the exception of Spike, who he seemed to despise more strongly than he'd previously let on. 

"Um, maybe we could come back later," Willow suggested, blinking slowly. "You have to contact the Council anyhow, right?"

"Yeah, we'll h-head home and you can update us if anything changes." Tara wanted to get out of the shop as quickly as possible. She'd seen a brief glimpse of something in Mr. Giles' eyes a moment ago that she wanted to talk to Willow about.

They collected their coats and left the Magic Box, convening in a huddle on the street outside.

"Did you see it?" Willow and Tara asked simultaneously as soon as the door shut behind them.

"See what?" Xander asked. "Other than the G-man gettin' all hot under his starchy collar?"

"That's just it," Willow said. "He's been real touchy all day. Touchy-touchy. Ever since Buffy and Spike linked up. And now he's flashin' lil' yellow sparklies in his eyes."

"Yellow sparklies?" Xander ducked his chin, smiling.

"As in vamp-demon yellow," Anya told him, thumping his shoulder. "Men are so unobservant."

"Giles is a vampire?" Xander was horrified. "When did this happen?"

"I'm not sure that he's actually all vamped out," Willow said. "Same way that I'm not sure that Spike's altogether human. But something's definitely wiggy in Giles-land."

"D-Didn't he have contact with Spike as well?" Tara asked. "We were too distracted by the Buffy and Spike show to pay much attention to that part."

"We've gotta find them," Willow stated. "Buffy and Spike, I mean. We've got to do the Sherlocky thing. Put together the details. Figure out exactly what happened before Giles goes, like, permanently bumpy." She caught hold of Tara's hand and headed in the direction of Spike's crypt.

Anya moved to follow, but had to pause to wait for Xander, who was still going over everything in his mind. "Are you coming?"

Xander sighed heavily, and trailed after the witches. "Only on the Hellmouth," he muttered.

~*[+]*~

Buffy knew something was wrong the moment she set foot in the tunnel. 

Spike was out of sight, but she sensed he was nearby. He felt kinda panicky, not at all like the confident non-vamp she was linked with. She understood that most of that confidence was a carefully erected facade, but this sort of vague alarm was scaring her.

"Spike?" 

Buffy sent the call telepathically. There was no answer and goosebumps shot up her arms. Stop it! You are so _not_ afraid right now. She absolutely refused to be concerned about Spike.

"Drusilla's loose." 

The realization popped unbidden into her head. But had she thought it or had Spike? She couldn't tell anymore. That was plenty scary on it's own.

Buffy reached behind, under her jacket, and pulled out a stake. She edged carefully along the tunnel wall, keeping a wary eye open.

"Spike? Where are you?" Why is it so damn dark down here?

Spike's lighter flicked on in the shadows just ahead of her, casting a warm glow across his sculpted face. 

He smirked. "Fearful she might've done away with me?"

It was the smirk that did it. Buffy stalked over and smacked him. Hard. He flew across to land heavily on the other side of the tunnel.

"Hey!" He complained, sitting up and rubbing his jaw. "No fair gettin' slap-happy. I can't fight back, remember?"

"You jerk! I thought something had happened to you!"

"See? Knew you weren't as detached as you kept makin' out." Spike got to his feet. "That wasn't the intended message, though. Dru's scampered."

"Yeah, I _got_ that." Buffy flexed her fingers and made a mental note not to punch him again. Not while holding a stake anyway. "What I wanna know is why you were so freaked about it."

"I was just wonderin' what she did to set Apollyon off," he said. "Got to be big. And I'm talkin' apocalyptic."

"I've dealt with apocalyptic stuff before. So have you. We'll deal."

"There's that 'we' again, Slayer. For someone who's not on a team, you're pretty chummy."

She held up the stake. "Do you _want_ me to use this?"

Spike's chin jutted out at her in a silent dare, and she focused on it for a second, fascinated. It had a little pointy bit on it, like someone had attached an extra layer of stubborn. 

Maybe that's why he brought out the worst in her. She hated stubborn. It reminded her too much of herself. And she didn't want to have _anything_ in common with him. Right?

"Done with the pointless soul-searchin'?" he asked, breaking in on her meditation. "'Cause I'd like to go find Dru before she tries to destroy the world again."


	5. Grr! Aargh!

****

Chapter Five - GRR! AARGH!

The Scoobies arrived at Spike's crypt and hovered uncertainly outside.

"Should we knock?" Willow asked. "We should knock. Does Buffy knock?"

"It would be polite, I guess." Tara replied, doubtful.

"C'mon guys, its only Spike." Xander shoved the door open.

Willow frowned. "Are you sure? It doesn't seem right, just walkin' on in. I mean, he has to be invited to get in anywhere."

"He doesn't anymore," Anya commented as they followed Xander inside. "Not being restricted by vampire rules must be very liberating for him."

They all came to an abrupt halt and stared at the ten-foot, trussed-up warbling Keratos demon perched unsteadily on Spike's armchair.

"That's new," Anya said.

Xander blinked. "Yeah. And every home should have one 'cause they're so handy."

"What is it?" Tara was riveted to the spot, unable to take her eyes from the improbable scene. She hugged herself protectively.

"Guessin' that it's Spike's pal, the Keratos demon guy." Willow walked around slowly to stand in front of the beast. "Don't know why he's the one tied up, though. Wasn't Drusilla-? Oh." She halted. "Oh no."

"Should we, you know, untie him?" Tara asked. "He doesn't look too comfortable. And he keeps making that noise."

"Maybe we should wait for Spike," Anya suggested. "I mean, it's _his_ demon."

"It's not a pet, honey," Xander informed her. He thrust his hands into his pockets and eyed the demon. "Although ... he's sort of cute in a non-fluffy, monstrous demon kinda way." He looked up eagerly. "Can we keep him?"

Willow leant forward and gingerly unwound a small section of cable, creating enough leeway for Apollyon to open his mouth and breach the remaining bonds. His strident howling began all over again, leaving the gang to do little but peer at each other with their hands clasped tightly over their ears.

Spike suddenly burst from the trapdoor opening and shouldered his way past Willow, rapidly moving to replace the cables. After securing the final knot, he turned to confront the group. 

"Bloody hell!" he exploded, the furious glitter in his eyes motivating the witch to take a cautious step backward. "Whose bright idea was that?"

He glared at Buffy as she emerged from the tunnel, having clearly just said something defamatory in his mind. They waged a wordless battle for a few minutes, eyes flashing, then Spike hooked his thumbs in his belt and tilted his head defiantly.

Buffy stood firm and folded her arms, her jaw set.

"Oh, alright then." Spike gave the Scoobies a disgusted glance and wandered over to sit atop his sarcophagus. He lit a cigarette and stared moodily at the Keratos.

Buffy watched him with suspicion for a moment, and then turned back to the Scoobies. She gave them a wide smile. "What's up?"

"Besides the decibel level?" Xander anxiously tapped at the side of his head.

"I can't hear anything." Anya declared in a very loud voice. "I'm deaf. Is anyone else deaf?" 

"Why is she asking the question if she won't be able to hear the bloody answer?" Spike pondered aloud, squinting at the former vengeance demon through a cloud of smoke.

"I thought I told you to stay out of this," Buffy cautioned.

"You don't dictate to me, Summers. Not big on the whole order-takin' vibe."

She rolled her eyes and turned back to Willow, who raised her eyebrows inquisitively.

"Don't ask." Buffy sighed. "What's with the group outing?"

"Oh, um, we've kinda got a Serpiente-related problem," Willow grimaced apologetically.

"Another one," Anya inserted, still speaking much louder than necessary. 

Buffy felt Spike's approach. "Don't suppose you Scoobies've found the magical cure-all?" he asked, coming to a halt at her shoulder.

"No." The redhead's brow creased. "It's just, Giles is actin' kinda ... he's a little..."

"Vampirey." Tara supplied, helpfully. "With the yellow eyes and stuff."

"I'm really worried," Willow continued. "What if he gets all, you know, Grr?" She curved her fingers into a claw to demonstrate. "He hasn't got a chip like Spike does. He could hurt someone."

"Kinda doubtful, Red," Spike said, trying to reassure her. "My soul didn't make a miraculous reappearance, so I'd lay odds he's still intact." He smiled. "Rupes is more likely to act like His Royal Peachiness than some fresh-turned newbie."

"Spike's right." Buffy had the disturbing urge to lean against her misfit of a link-partner for support and threw a comforting arm around Willow's shoulders instead. "Giles would never hurt anyone, Will. Not if he could help it." 

She glanced at Apollyon and suddenly realized that the demon had stopped whimpering.

Spike sensed her astonishment and was starting toward the Keratos before she could even finish processing the thought. He halted in front of the demon and narrowed his eyes, the cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. He took a deep drag and then leant forward threateningly.

"You all done?" he asked, blowing smoke across the demon's nostrils, his voice low and thick with menace, "'Cause you start up that caterwaulin' again and I'll kill you right quick."

The demon's startling green eyes rolled back into his enormous head and he collapsed backward, his sheer weight tipping the chair over with him. 

Spike puffed out his chest. "Oh yeah. I still got it."

"That wasn't because of you." Buffy shook her head in disbelief. He was so full of it. "He's probably all traumatized or something."

"Yeah, by the Big Bad..."

"Hello? Not a real vampire anymore!"

That seemed to take the wind out of his sails. He tossed his cigarette onto the floor and exhaled dejectedly, his head bowing. Buffy could feel his frustration, and the dark layer of unadulterated terror lurking beneath it. She sent him a little extrasensory hug and he looked up in surprise. Their eyes met ... and held.

Xander cleared his throat, not liking the sudden tension in the air. "What's with the overzealous yawping anyway? He always like that?"

Spike glared at him. Insolent whelp - if he didn't have this chip, he'd be the first one... 

The thought earned him a mental slap from the Slayer and his glare instantly transformed to a delighted smile, completely disconcerting Xander.

"Spike's smiling at me," he complained. "Officially power-freaked now."

"Shut it, Harris," Spike said affably, managing to sound quite pleasant. "I haven't gone about testin' the chip yet. Mightn't work now I'm sportin' all these human-type qualities."

Xander's eyes bulged, though it was hard to determine whether it was because of the threat or the tone of voice with which it was issued. He took refuge behind Anya, who was opening and closing her mouth repeatedly, trying to get her ears to pop.

"Spike, behave," Buffy ordered, taking charge of the situation. "We're going back to the shop to check on Giles. Now."

Spike sneered, but she could sense that he was enjoying her show of authority. He seemed to have a thing for strong women.

Buffy cautiously prodded the unconscious demon, nudging him with her foot. 

"Is he gonna be okay?" she asked Spike, automatically interacting via their link. She was actually beginning to appreciate being able to share these secret conversations with him. 

"When he passed out in that bar in Mexico, I just up and left him there," Spike admitted. "Don't see how this is any different."

"Remind me never to go out drinking with you." 

"Why is he all ... with the bondage?" Willow inquired curiously.

"And, again, that screamy thing?" Xander put in. "What's that about?"

"There's the poser children," Spike noted. "We'll be askin' the same of Dru when we get to trackin' her down."

Still having the persistent impulse to touch him, and giving in to it just this once, Buffy reached over and grabbed Spike's hand. 

Surprisingly, he didn't make with the sarcastic comments, gently stroking the pad of his thumb over the back of her hand instead. It was nice.

And his skin really was remarkably smooth for someone as experienced and battle-hardened as he was. 

She blinked. Okay, where had _that_ come from? 

"We'll fill you in on the way," she said to the gang, heading out of the crypt and dragging a very pleased-looking Spike along behind her.

~*[+]*~

The whole town was strangely dark. Or not so strangely, seeing that there was no moon and that all the streetlights were out. 

Electrical disturbances usually heralded the arrival of some major league nasty and the group was well aware of it. They were a little more tense than usual, and it manifested as an elevated level of sniping.

"Well, I don't get it," Xander said. He was whispering to Anya, but it was loud enough for everyone else to hear because she kept telling him to speak up. "I know they're all linked and stuff, but the hand-holding? When did that happen?"

"Can't you belt him one?" Spike complained to Buffy in link-versation. "Just a little tap. Wouldn't take much. I'd do it, but I don't wanna risk a chip-zapping." He gestured vaguely toward his head. "Get the feelin' it might, you know, do a crossover."

"And since when did you decide that was a bad thing?" Buffy returned. "I thought you'd want me to see what it felt like. A chance to do a bit of damage."

"That was before."

"Oh, right," Buffy said cynically. "Before you realized you loved me."

"Before the sodding link, you nit." Spike became agitated. "I love you, yeah, but I've never once treated you like some delicate flower. You don't need coddlin'. Hell, you can protect yourself better than the average bloke."

Buffy stopped walking and stared at him. "Say that again."

"What? 'Average bloke'?"

She slugged him on the shoulder and he flailed back a few steps. "Hey!"

"You said it." Buffy pointed her finger at him accusingly, but it trembled a little. "I heard you. You actually said the words." His admission had been like a solid blow to the gut. She was having trouble drawing breath.

"You okay?" Spike was suddenly all attentive. "I can feel you strugglin' in there." He glanced back to the Scoobies, who had paused to watch their interchange. "And you're drawin' an audience."

Buffy continued to gape at him. "I didn't believe it, you know," she said. "Even after, when then link exploded. I could feel it, but I..." She shook her head, wonderment crossing her face. "It's really real. You really love me."

"Well, yeah." Spike was blushing again. Bloody human body. "Thought we'd pretty much established that."

"But it's wrong. It isn't supposed to be possible."

"Think I don't know that? Contrary to the popular belief 'round here, I'm not stupid." He sighed and stroked the back of his fingers down her cheek. "Doesn't feel wrong."

She blinked at him, wishing for some proper light so that she could really see him. Drown in those brilliant blue eyes of his and just ... Oops! Buffy, what are you doing? Focus!

She cleared her throat. "Right. Um, weren't we on a mission here?"

Spike smiled. 

He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately, but she hadn't taken the time to notice. He usually had that perpetual 'don't trust me, I'm up to something' look on his face.

"Oh dear," he lamented, not sounding the slightest bit sorry. "Forgettin' your Slayery duties?" 

Buffy gave him her best 'drop-dead' look, and resumed walking.

~*[+]*~

Drusilla sat in a corner of the Old Mansion with her favorite porcelain doll in her arms. Its eyes had been removed. 

Miss Edith was blinded - just as that Jezebel Slayer had blinded her lovely William. Her lovely, wicked baby. He reeked of her. It would take her some time to get rid of the stench, but it would be well worth it and they would be a family again. 

Daddy was on his way. She had made sure of it. The invitations had been sent and all the guests were coming. It wouldn't do for the entertainment to be spoiled and the Slayer played all the best games.

She hummed to herself as she fashioned a ribbon to cover the doll's empty sockets.

"It will be perfect, my darling," she whispered conspiratorially to Miss Edith's blanked-out countenance. "But you mustn't tell, it would ruin the surprise."

~*[+]*~

Giles was beginning to worry himself. He paced up and down the Magic Box's floor like a caged animal, aware that something was profoundly wrong. He could feel the anger simmering through his system, and was finding it harder and harder to control. 

It was not unlike that time he had been put under a spell and turned into a demon, although on this occasion he believed that there was no spell involved. This was Spike's fault.

He snarled, and then paused to contemplate the sound, startled to find it coming from his own throat. 

Oh yes, this was definitely Spike's fault. He was exhibiting traits that were undoubtedly vampire-like. It was a short leap to the conclusion that it was as a result of the minimal contact that he'd had with Spike earlier. Another previously unheard-of Serpiente side effect.

Logically, in came down to the fact that some of Spike's demon element had been passed to Giles, just as Buffy's humanity had rubbed off on the vampire. It would be difficult to establish whether or not the situation could be reversed.

He looked up as the Scoobies arrived back at the shop. Xander and Anya barreled through the door, closely followed by Willow and Tara. It was the appearance of Spike that pushed him over the edge. Giles launched himself at the vampire, completely oblivious to the fact that he'd slipped into game face.

Spike reeled back, pivoted, and let fly with a vicious left that momentarily flattened the Watcher - and let the vampire know that the chip was still painfully operative.

"Ow!"

The cry came from Buffy and Spike simultaneously and they both clutched at their heads.

"See," Spike groaned to the Slayer. "Told you it'd do a crossover."

Buffy squinted at him. How did he take this? It was excruciating. Her eyes were watering.

Giles growled at them from the floor and Buffy stared down at him.

"Breathe," she instructed. "Count back from ten to one. Slowly."

Spike frowned at her. Had she been doing some prying when he wasn't looking? How did she know that was the precise method he used to calm himself down?

She smiled at him smugly and he narrowed his gaze. Bitch.

"I heard that."

"I know. Stop statin' the bleedin' obvious."

Giles was finally able to contain his rage enough for his game face to recede. "I am so very sorry," he said. "I'd like to say that I don't know what came over me, but that would be an outright lie."

Spike leant over the prone Watcher, his eyes narrowed meaningfully. "Not as simple as you thought, is it?" he asked.

"No, no. Certainly not." Giles pulled himself into a standing position and probed at the swelling on his jaw. "Quite the left hook, you've got there."

Spike shrugged. "Still runnin' on vamp-power, I guess."

"Have any other consequences surfaced?" Giles slipped seamlessly into Watcher Mode. "Anything else changed?"

"Just this latest interactive pain thing. Other than that, I'm still feelin' the need for McPlasma meals." Spike glanced at Buffy, who nodded in agreement.

"I can sense the craving," she said and gagged a little. "Wiggy doesn't even cover it, but I'm dealing." She stared at Giles intensely. "Speaking of..."

"I think I have adequately displayed my lack thereof," Giles shook his head. "I completely underestimated the potency of demon urgings." His gaze returned to Spike. "I'm amazed at your ability to control it."

Spike blushed again. He really had to get _that_ under control. "I've lived with it for a bit longer," he said dismissively. "It gets easier." He glanced almost shyly at Buffy. "In some ways."

Buffy frowned. "Well, how about you cryptic that up?"

"Oh, for God's sake, spit it out," Anya said suddenly. "You're all so emotionally repressed. It's not healthy." She folded her arms defensively as they stared at her. "Well, it's not."

Spike sauntered away, perched himself several rungs up the ladder to the loft and lit a cigarette. He cleared his throat to make sure he had their undivided attention. "Right," he said. "Here goes then." 

He pointed his cigarette-holding fingers at the group. "Fact one. This whole situation started 'cause I wanted to test a theory. Nothin' sinister, I just wanted to find out how Buffy truly felt about me is all." 

The cigarette relocated to his mouth. "Fact two. Dru was behind the Serpiente. I had absolutely nothin' to do with it. Fact three..."

"Fact three," Buffy inserted. "The reason the Serpiente passed on to me, is because you're in love with me."

There was silence for a moment and then Xander started laughing.

"Good one, Buff," he applauded. Then he realized that no one else was sharing the hilarity. "What?" He peered around uncertainly. "She _was _joking. Right?"

"Unfortunately not," Giles said. "Spike seems to possess deep feelings that no-one believed his kind was capable of."

"You mean, _our_ kind." Spike blew a smoke ring. "Seems I'm not the only one who's occasionally bumpy in the forehead region these days."

Giles rubbed at his brow, half-expecting the ridges to still be there. He could still feel the rage coursing through his body.

"But Spike ... I mean, he and -?" Xander stammered to a stop and sighed. "Wait. Why am I even surprised?"

"I was about to ask the same thing," Willow smiled indulgently at her lifelong best friend. "Hellmouth," she stated. "Explains everything. I mean, just look at who you're dating, Xander. A thousand-year-old ex-vengeance demon. Do you think that would be possible anywhere else in the world?"

"I'm guessing not." Xander smiled tenderly at Anya. "And lucky me for livin' in a Hellmouth-friendly area."

Spike snorted and stubbed out his cigarette on the handrail. He went to flick the butt to the floor, then thought better of it and tucked it into his pocket. He looked up to catch Buffy's knowing grin.

"Coward," she flung at him.

"Damn right," he sent back. "Don't want the Watcher gettin' all in a tizzy and settin' the chip off again."

"Well, I'm with you on that one." Buffy rubbed her temple, remembering the agony.

"Figured you would be." 

Giles snarled again and they all turned to stare at him. 

He appeared as stunned as they did. "Sorry," he apologized. "It just came out." He cleared his throat. "Speaking of feelings, Spike, what's the current status of your former paramour?"

"My what?" Spike blinked at him.

"He means Dru," Buffy said.

"Well, I know that. But 'paramour'? Who the bleedin' hell talks like that?"

"He's British," Xander put in. "You gotta allow for..."

"Hey, I'm British. I'm a sodding Londoner. I was around when everyone actually spoke like a bunch of prissy twits. What's his excuse?"

"Ignore him," Buffy advised Giles. "He's just trying to push your buttons to avoid the subject."

Spike glowered. She dismissed his ominous expression with a wave of her hand. "You can't intimidate me anymore, chipped wonder. Not that you were ever all that..."

Giles and Spike both growled in a tandem warning and then stared at each other in surprise.

"Whoa, surround-sound vamps," Xander remarked.

Willow and Tara giggled. Buffy ducked her head to avoid doing the same.

Spike swung back to her accusingly. "Hey, no cheek from you, Slayer," he cautioned.

"And again with the un-intimidation," she intoned. "Can we get back on-topic now?"

"Yes, of course." Giles massaged his forehead again, absently checking for ridges. "Drusilla?" he asked.

"Done a bunk," Spike gritted out. He should have been more alert. He of all people knew how slippery she could be.

"But not before doing something creepified to the Napoleon demon," Buffy added.

"Don't know what exactly," Spike continued. "Set him off like a sodding burglar alarm she did."

Giles hurried to rifle through a stack of books that he'd kept separate on the counter. He grabbed a volume and flipped to a book-marked page. "Was it a 'clamor of stentorian pipes, laden with despair'?"

"Nah, mate. It was bloody loud 'n all."

Giles frowned, reading. "When a Keratos demon begins issuing this sound, it is a sign of extreme psychic stress. Someone rather powerful was sending a signal. Is Drusilla capable of such strength?"

"Not without help. She's sighted, but it's only at parlor-trick level. Helpful, but not end-of-the-world stuff." Spike shifted on his perch. "'Course, she might've picked up a few things since I last saw her. Especially with the company she's been keepin'."

"Company?" Giles looked blank for a moment.

Spike stared pointedly. 

"She did dump me for a Chaos demon," he stressed. "Moved on to a Fungus demon. Hell, for all I know, she was shacked up with Apollyon."

Buffy screwed up her nose, disgusted. She had a mental flashback of the enormous demon and her disgust deepened. "Ew! Thanks for the imagery Spike. I'll be having nightmares now."

"Join the club, Slayer."

The message was for her alone and she gazed at him, recalling the tormented memories she'd picked up from him before. His nightmares. Well, _day_-mares really.

"Do you think that you'll be getting my memories now the link's going both ways?" she suddenly asked him.

"Probably." He grinned at her. "Just don't be havin' any lurid dreams about the Incredible Hulking Moper right? Don't want him prancin' naked through my head."

Buffy broke up laughing, causing the rest of the group to stare at her like she was a crazy person. It just made it worse and set her off again.

Spike was experiencing her mirth firsthand and tried to contain the urge to join in. The giggle came out regardless.

The Scoobies swung back in his direction as one.

"Well, that's just adorable," Anya said, smiling.

"I've never heard him laugh before," Willow commented. "It's ... well, you're right. It's adorable. Very cute."

"It's not _that_ cute," Xander groused.

Buffy watched Spike through laughter-induced tears. He _was_ adorable. He looked so young and carefree, and so utterly gorgeous. She found herself standing in front of him before she even realized she was moving.

Spike met her eyes, still grinning like an idiot. "What?" he asked.

Buffy's breath hitched in her throat. She reached up to lay her palm along his face, her thumb resting in the hollow under his cheekbone. "I -", she began, then shook her head, her heart squeezing in on itself behind her ribs. "I can't..."

Spike leant into her touch, emitting a heady wave of adoration. "You don't have to say it," he told her.

Buffy searched his gaze for a moment, certain that she'd just seen a glimpse of a soul that he wasn't supposed to possess. She beamed at him, and then turned back to the others.

"I don't want Spike alone in his crypt," she announced. "He'll be staying with me."

"No, I won't," he said, voicing his own dissent over the ardent protestations of the Scoobies. "I can handle myself. You know that."

"You're vulnerable when it comes to Dru. She'll use it to manipulate you."

"So. That's not new."

"But this super-dupery psycho thing is."

Spike made to retort, but was stymied by the steely resolve in her eyes.

Hell, the Slayer wanted him to move in. Who was he to argue?


	6. Peaches 'N Dreams

****

Chapter Six - PEACHES 'N DREAMS

Drusilla was growing impatient. No one wanted to play - not even Miss Edith or the other pretty dollies.

Bored, she waltzed in a circle and then abruptly stopped. She tilted her head as though listening, her gaze moving toward the ceiling. A smile spread softly across her face.

"And it begins," she whispered.

~*[+]*~

Angel stood on the porch outside Buffy's house and peered through the window, trying to get a glimpse of her. He found that a preview was always best, then he could get on with business without falling in a sobbing mess at her feet. 

The sight that confronted him made his head snap back in shock. He narrowed his eyes and looked again.

No, he wasn't seeing things.

Spike was sprawled on Buffy's sofa, flipping through television channels with a remote control. An unbleached, barefoot Spike wearing faded denim jeans with one knee torn out and a wrinkled red T-shirt. A half-consumed mug of blood sat on the coffee table. He showed all the outward signs of being completely at home.

Angel glanced down when he felt the windowsill crack off in his hands, and half-heartedly tried to repair the damage. When he looked back up, Spike was grinning at him through the glass.

"Hi Dad!" he mouthed, blue eyes twinkling gleefully. He actually waved.

Angel snarled, wanting to punch through the glass and knock the younger vamp out.

Spike was suddenly wrenched backward and Angel wasn't surprised to see Buffy standing behind him, her hands on her hips. What did surprise him was the complete lack of animosity she showed toward his troublesome Childe, not to mention the tender smile she gave him before waving Angel toward the front door.

"Angel," she greeted him. "Is something wrong?"

Angel frowned. "Other than that?" He gestured to the still-grinning Spike who lurked in the background. He was barely able to restrain himself from rushing in and pounding the guy senseless.

"Oh, that's not wrong. Well, it is, but..." Buffy sighed. "It's one of those long, involved, and not-especially-interesting type stories." She shot Spike a quelling glance as though he'd said something disparaging. Angel hadn't heard a thing.

Spike caught her glance and held it, widening his eyes pointedly. They stared at each other for a moment until Spike's smile tightened and became a resigned grimace. He glared at Angel and then returned to his channel surfing. He still hadn't uttered a word.

Buffy put on a happy face and stood back to invite Angel in. He hesitated and stared after Spike. "Did I miss something?"

"A chapter of that longish story I mentioned."

"Is he ... living here?"

"Yeah, kinda." She spied Angel's appalled expression. "God, not like _that!"_

She screwed up her nose, but a speculative gleam lit in her eyes and that worried him. 

"Buffy, you realize that the last time I saw Spike, he had me tortured with hot pokers?" Angel felt compelled to point that out.

"He did?" She shrugged, not particularly concerned. "Sounds like something he'd do."

"Not sorry 'bout that, Peaches." Spike's voice came from the end of the hall where he was padding his way to the kitchen. He tapped the side of his nose. "Evil vampire, you know."

"Shut up, Fang-face," Buffy chided. She indicated the now-empty mug he held in his hand. "Rinse that before you put it in the dishwasher."

Spike saluted, smirking. "Yes, Ma'am."

Angel squinted at the mug. It had a little skeleton on it, and the words 'I'D RATHER BE DEAD...'

"Buffy?"

She dragged her eyes away from Spike as he disappeared into the kitchen. "What?"

"When did Spike become your domesticated housemate?"

"It's only temporary," she told him, leading him into the lounge. "Because of Dru." They stopped in front of the sofa and she paused to stare at the TV, noticing that the final credits for 'Passions' were rolling. She smiled indulgently, picked up the remote and flipped the set off.

"That's why I'm here, actually." Angel hunched his shoulders and gazed at her earnestly. "Cordelia had a vision."

"She did?" Buffy was suddenly distracted. She frowned in the direction of the kitchen. "How's that going for her?"

"Painfully." Angel's brow furrowed. "Buffy, I'm trying to be serious here."

"You're always serious," she said. She gritted her teeth. "Stop it!" she muttered under her breath. "He is _not_ a Nancy boy."

Angel only heard what she said because of his enhanced hearing. "Nancy boy?" he asked.

Buffy looked at him, startled, and then gave him a sheepish smile. "Sorry. Sometimes I forget and say stuff out loud."

"Would you just explain to me what the hell is going on?"

"It's to do with some El-Pogo snake thing that Spike caught in Mexico."

"Snake thing?"

She nodded. "Like the 'flu. Only not."

"So, you're sick. And it makes you like Spike?"

Buffy laughed. "That's funny."

"And true for the most part." Spike reappeared in the doorway and lounged against the frame, tucking his thumbs in the waistband of his jeans.

"It is not," she protested. "I don't just like you because of the link."

"'Course you do. If it wasn't for the bloody link, you'd never have known how I felt. It softened you up."

Buffy snorted. "That's like saying the only reason you love me is because of the chip."

"Bollocks." Spike glowered at her.

"Link?" Angel asked, at a loss. "Chip?" 

And love? When had that happened? He suddenly felt nauseous.

Buffy and Spike were doing their silent staring act again, but this time Angel recognized that they were communicating telepathically. They were connected. Some of what he'd picked up fell into place.

"Okay, I think I get the link part. But what's a chip got to do with anything?"

Spike peered at him curiously. "Been out of the loop a while, haven't you?" he asked. He swung back to Buffy like she'd hit him. "What?"

"Would you please talk normally, you're giving me a headache." Angel sat on the sofa and put a hand to his forehead. This was too much to take in all at once.

"That's what Giles says," Buffy noted. She remained standing, her arms folded.

Angel blinked. Giles. The vision. Cordelia.

"And we're back to why I'm here in the first place."

"What's that mate?" Judging by his tone, Spike wasn't exactly interested in the answer.

"Cordelia had a vision of Giles as a vampire." Angel paused to let the announcement sink in.

"Is that all?" Spike sneered. "Hell, I could've told you that."

Angel focused his attention on Buffy. "Giles has been turned?"

"Sorta," she hedged. She exchanged another loaded glance with the younger vamp. "And Spike ... well, he's sorta human."

"What?" Angel's voice grated from behind his clenched teeth, his fingers closing into white-knuckled fists.

"Only sorta!" Buffy hurried to clarify. "Jeez, it's not even the real deal."

"Still got the muscle power, the pesky sunlight allergy, and the liquid diet," Spike corroborated. "But hey presto! Got a beatin' heart to go with it."

Angel stilled, listening. Sure enough - there were two heartbeats. He hadn't noticed it before because they were beating in complete synchrony. One was almost an echo of the other.

"He's got _your_ heartbeat," he told Buffy, amazement permeating his voice.

She frowned. "Huh?"

"Spike's heart has got exactly the same rhythm as yours. It's just a fraction behind."

Spike's eyebrows shot up and his head tilted a little to the side as he contemplated Angel's observation. 

"And a homerun for the Soul Boy," he confirmed after a moment.

"You haven't got that back as well, have you?" Angel was suddenly apprehensive.

"Nah. You're still one-up there, mate. Although I'd like to have a bit of a chat about it later." There was something in his gaze that was close to dread.

"He thinks he's keeping a secret from me," Buffy whispered to Angel. "I let him live the delusion."

Spike growled and stalked away into the dining room.

"You're very ... close." Angel watched Spike's retreating back. He couldn't disguise his uneasiness at the situation.

"Part and parcel of the whole linky package," Buffy reported. "It's weird. But it's not like he's, you know, horrendously evil or anything."

"Buffy..."

"I know. It's _Spike. _People keep pointing that out." She sighed and met Angel's dark gaze. "He's different now."

"How?" Angel stood and gently brushed her hair back off her shoulders. "He's bad. He always was. It's been the one constant throughout his unlife."

Buffy pulled away from him and moved to the other side of the coffee table. She hated when he towered over her like that.

"Don't you talk to me about bad," she snapped. "I saw what you did."

Angel managed to look confused and hurt at the same time. He excelled at the expression. "What are you talking about?"

"The torture," she hissed. "The way you used to treat him."

Angel's eyes closed in resignation. "It was a long time ago. I didn't have a soul."

"Would it have made a huge difference if you did? You give that damn soul so much credit for making you good. What does it do anyway? What is it?"

"It's ... a feeling. A part of me that knows right and wrong and has a conscience."

"Spike has that."

"But he..."

"But nothing. I can feel it. I _know_. There isn't an argument." Buffy began pacing a little. She got a surge of affection from Spike and stopped to let it flow over her. It had an instant calming effect.

Angel noticed the change and his face grew even darker. He was definitely going to kill his errant Childe one of these days.

"What happened when he was turned?" Buffy asked suddenly and he blinked at the change of subject.

"What?"

"Spike. Turned. What happened?"

"Doesn't he remember?"

"Well, I was dead," Spike said from the doorway. "Tends to blur things up a bit."

He strolled back into the lounge and stood protectively at Buffy's shoulder. She leant against him for a second, almost taking comfort in his presence, and Angel felt like he'd been sucker-punched. He recalled how she'd pulled away from him, how she'd distanced herself. She never would have done that before. 

Angel swallowed the lump in his throat. "I've got to get out of here."

"But, you haven't..." Buffy started to protest until Spike interrupted.

"Go," he said to his Sire. "No doubt we'll be havin' that chat some time soon."

Angel nodded and left as though the devil was at his heels.

Buffy frowned at the door as it slammed behind him. "Well, that was a whole stack of reuniony fun." 

"He's a bit on the upset side, love. Best to let him have a brood and work it out."

"And when did you get so understanding?"

"You need to ask?"

Buffy exhaled and rubbed a tired hand over her face. "I guess not."

Spike raised his own hand. It hovered for a split second, uncertain, and then ruffled her hair companionably. "Buck up, Slayer. It didn't go so bad, considerin'."

~*[+]*~

Angel's next stop was the Magic Box. 

He wanted to see for himself that Giles was coping with the whole vampire situation. And he especially wanted to ask the Watcher about Buffy and Spike. 

He tapped on the front door and entered without waiting for an invitation. Public places were handy that way. The bell informed the sole occupant of his arrival.

Willow was sitting at the study table. She spotted him and bestowed him with a wide smile. "Angel, hi." She was delighted for a moment and then seemed to realize that his appearance in town had to been connected to something nasty. "Is there something wrong?"

"Is that my standard greeting now?" Angel asked.

"Oh. N-no, not really," Willow became flustered. He tended to do that to her anyway. Nice to see that some things didn't change. "It's just ... I mean, have you seen Buffy?"

"Oh yeah."

Angel thrust his hands into his coat pockets and stared at the tiled floor, still trying to rid himself of the image of Buffy and Spike looking so cozy.

"Whose idea was it that Spike should live at her house?" he asked.

"Buffy's. Giles tried to argue some, but she wouldn't back down."

Angel nodded and met Willow's curious eyes. "I don't trust him."

"Well, none of us do." Willow's brow furrowed. "E-except Buffy, I guess. I don't get it but it seems to work for her. He ... makes her happy."

"And I didn't." It wasn't a question. They both remembered the angst and utter wretchedness that defined his and Buffy's relationship.

"Hmm." Willow turned away uncomfortably and flipped a page of her book.

"Have we gotten to the awkward silence thing already?" Angel tried a smile.

"Yeah," she admitted. "U-unless you want to talk some more. I could listen or ... or maybe help. I'm good with the helping..."

"It's okay Willow, I'm not going to force you into a conversation. Is Giles around?"

"No," she blinked at him in that affected innocent way she had. "He's out checkin' on Apollyon."

"Apollyon?" Angel frowned again. 

Why did that name sound familiar?

"Wanna sit?" Willow asked reluctantly. "He shouldn't be too long and I _could_, like, fill you in on the sitch if you want, I guess."

Angel hesitated and then joined her at the table. "First, I need to know what a 'chip' has to do with anything."

The witch stared at him blankly, and then comprehension dawned. "Oh. You don't know about the chip."

"Willow..." Angel ground out, beginning to feel frustrated.

"Spike's chipped," she informed him. "He's got this little government microchip in his head that stops him hurtin' any living thing. Oh, except demons ... and plants maybe. I guess it's more like a 'can't hurt humans' thing."

"You mean he can't feed?" Angel was stunned.

"Nope. Can't feed, can't even point a gun at someone without gettin' all ... brain-zapped. It's kinda cool. I-In a totally scientific sort of way, of course."

Angel considered that. It was unthinkable really. He remembered his Childe's penchant for mayhem and gore, and the idea that he was neutered by a worthless piece of plastic...

Wait. That was Angelus talking. Spike's inability to kill was a _good_ thing. Especially since he was now living with Buffy.

"How did he end up at Buffy's?"

"Well, um, that's sort of complicated. And probably better coming from big ol' Giles and not a defenseless witchy-type person." She smiled worriedly.

"I wouldn't hurt you."

"Oh, I know." She hurried to placate him. "It's just that ... you did before. But, but its not like I don't trust you or anything..."

"Willow," Angel leant forward slightly, his voice soft and reassuring. "I wouldn't hurt you."

"Okay." She still didn't appear convinced and backed up a little.

"Are you like this with him too?"

"Who him? I mean, him who? Spike?"

"Yes Spike. He's hurt you before."

"Not really. And Buffy said he didn't mean it. If he'd really _meant_ to hurt us we'd have been dead by now. We'd be pushin' up the daisies. Oh, plus, with the chip, it's a physical impossibility these days."

"But, you already said you didn't trust him."

"Did I?" Willow scowled. "Sounds wrong when you hear it back like that."

"So you _do_ trust him?"

"Probably," she mused. "Haven't had a chance to try it out."

"Willow, how many times have I saved you?"

"It's different. I mean, even when Spike was bad, he wasn't nearly as bad as you were. He even helped Buffy stop you back then. _Without_ being chipped."

"For selfish reasons."

"Everybody's motivated by selfish reasons, Angel," Willow said, being insightful. "Spike's just more up-front about it."

Angel's lips twisted ruefully.

"So, when did you get so wise?" he teased.

"I kinda grew into it." She shrugged. "It happens."

~*[+]*~

When Giles had entered the crypt, he'd had every intention of engaging the Keratos demon in conversation. It was a rare opportunity to even see one of these beasts, let alone speak to one.

Apollyon, it seemed entertained other ideas.

No sooner had he come inside and unraveled its bonds, than the demon had latched on him with its prehensile tentacles.

Giles felt decidedly ill. And not altogether ... well, together.

His semi-inherited vampiric traits had bubbled to the surface and he had a distinct urge to rip the beast's throat out. The urge was becoming positively insistent and the Keratos seemed to sense this, retreating suddenly enough to send Giles reeling backward, the tentacles disconnecting with a pop.

The Watcher gasped for breath, his eyes golden in the crypt's dim interior, ridges evident on his brow.

"Good not anger," Apollyon burbled at him.

Giles bared his fangs as a threat, stalking the demon.

Apollyon's dual tongues flicked nervously. "Control must, Slayer-guide," he soothed, even if his Kera-speak was less than compatible with the tone.

His words seemed to have some effect though, as Giles straightened and stared at him.

"Well, that was most unpleasant," he noted finally, his cultured voice at odds with his fiendish vamp countenance.

Apollyon merely canted his head and peered at him, still doubtful of the Watcher's motives. "Dark is heart," he gurgled, interpreting his earlier reading. "Rage release or forfeit Slayer."

"Excuse me?" Giles' human features slipped back into place. "Are you saying that I have to let go of my animosity or I'm going to lose Buffy?"

"Precise," the Keratos confirmed.

"She'd choose that ... damnable _Spike_ over me?"

"Ordained," Apollyon said. "Meant."

"They're _supposed_ to be together?" The Watcher's incredulity deepened, then he frowned. "Ordained by whom?"

Apollyon shook his massive head slowly. "Utter not."

Giles growled low in his throat and smiled at the demon's wary step back. "Rather effective when put to proper use, isn't it?" His smile disappeared. "Now," he said, softly menacing. "Can't say ... or won't?"

~*[+]*~

Buffy stared at the inside of the microwave and sighed. The appliance was adorned with splatter-patterns of varying shades, from deep red to black. The black ones had formed a sort of crust.

"Spike?" 

She sent the call despite already knowing exactly where he was. The link had been progressing into new territory and they'd discovered this radar-like awareness earlier.

"What?" he grumbled. He was downstairs in the basement, having by this time converted it into his crypt-away-from-home. "I'm tryin' to get some shut-eye here, Slayer."

"Have you been experimenting with the pre-set heating menu on the microwave?"

The pang of guilt gave him away before he could even voice the denial. 

"No."

"Well, okay then." Buffy smiled.

"Huh?" She'd confused him now. She had to know it was him - the blood splats were a dead giveaway.

"I said 'okay'. I'll clean up the mess myself."

"Right. You do that."

Buffy waited and began to count. "One. Two. Thr..."

Spike strode into the kitchen.

"Where's the sodding dish-cloth?"

She had it ready and slapped it into his hand. "You might need some cleanser on the caked-on bits," she advised as he set about scrubbing.

Buffy leant back against the breakfast bar and admired him as he worked.

"Don't," he said suddenly.

"What?"

"Don't watch me do this." Spike straightened a little, but his head remained bowed. He fidgeted with the bottle of cleanser, staring at it fixedly.

"I'm a Master vampire, Buffy," he said, his voice serious. "Renowned, feared by my own kind. I've been around for over a century, survived wars and all. This is just..." he sighed heavily. "It's humiliating."

Buffy frowned at his back. "You're still a..."

He turned on her, angry and frustrated. "No. I'm not." His eyes blazed, bright with tears he refused to shed. "I'm a bloody joke."

Buffy's eyes welled up on his behalf, feeling all the bottled-up anguish he'd somehow been keeping away from her. She moved forward and wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly.

Spike went completely still, convinced that his newly restored heartbeat was about to stop. One of the tears he'd been holding back rolled down his cheek, but he was too afraid to wipe it away in case he scared her off.

He awkwardly positioned his arms around her, returning the embrace despite having a dishrag in one hand and a bottle of cleanser in the other. He contemplated the situation for a moment and then dropped both items to the floor, repositioning his hands on Buffy's back. He rested his cheek on her hair and inhaled her scent.

Seconds and then minutes ticked by with neither one willing to break the unexpected intimacy.

Buffy murmured something against his chest, shifted back to say it aloud, but then changed her mind and used the link instead. "This is ... nice."

Spike grunted, not sure he was capable of putting together a coherent thought. He was running on instinct, logic had no place in it.

Buffy began toying with the belt-loop at the back of his jeans. Then she moved her hands up under his loose T-shirt to tickle the smooth skin of his back.

Spike jerked away like she'd thrown holy water on him. "What the bloody hell was that?"

Buffy stared at him, confused. "I just..."

"Thought you'd toss a few crumbs to the pathetic non-vamp?" His words were angry, but she could sense the hurt behind them. "I've told you about these sympathetic tendencies before, Slayer. I don't want that from you."

He stalked out into the hallway, grabbed his duster from the hook by the door, and left the house.

It was time to have that chat with Angel.

~*[+]*~

Spike wriggled his bare toes and smiled ruefully.

"Stormed out before I realized," he explained. "And I didn't want to wreck my dramatic exit by sneakin' back in, so..."

"You came all this way without your boots." Xander shook his head in disbelief. "And I thought you were nuts before." He gestured at the Magic Box's front window. "It's freezing out there."

Spike sighed. "If I weren't linked to Buffy, I wouldn't know the difference."

"Ah, the wonders of the human circulatory system," Xander mused.

Spike looked at him like he'd grown another head. Bloody idiotic...

"Do you want me to bring your boots?" 

Buffy's voice resonated apologetically in his mind and he sensed her determination to come after him.

"No."

Xander frowned at him. "Are you talking to-?"

"Give a bloke a bit of space, love? Got things need ponderin'."

"...Buffy." Xander finished. He flashed Spike an oddly understanding smile and departed. 

Angel and Willow entered from the basement just as the danger room door closed behind him.

"So, that's the grand tour and ... oh, Spike's here." Willow cast an anxious glance at Angel. "And, um, Xander and Anya are still out back so I'll just be..." She realized that neither vamp was paying her any attention and discreetly exited.

"Gonna thump me?" Spike asked candidly.

"I was thinking about it." Angel smiled evilly, his hands flexing. "I've given it quite a bit of thought actually. Entertained a few scenarios."

"Well, have at it then. Bear in mind, though, that if you're hurtin' me, you're hurtin' her."

"Buffy feels your pain?" Angel shook his head, defeated. "That is just..."

"Bloody weird? Should try it from this side, mate."

"I wish I could."

They stared at each other. 

"So, how long?" Angel asked after a moment.

"How long what? Not bein' real specific there."

"How long, Spike?" Angel growled. He was in no mood to play games.

"Bloody forever." 

The guttural admission startled the elder vampire and he gaped at his Childe, completely flabbergasted.

"Happy now, Peaches? Loved her from the second I saw her, same as you. Finally managed to lower myself to your standards. Even lower, if that's possible." 

Spike began pacing back and forth, never having been able to stand still while on a roll like this. "Tried to live down to the glorious Angel mantle my whole unlife, but I can't compete with you, can I? Oh no, can't have that. Angel's better. Better at bein' evil, better at bein' good. I was _always_ second fiddle. Even in Dru's eyes. Loony bint."

Angel frowned. It was the first time he'd ever heard Spike insult Drusilla and sincerely mean it. He normally used them as terms of endearment.

"Shut it, Slayer." Spike stopped pacing to admonish his link-partner. "Thought you'd backed up to give me a bit of room."

"Buffy can hear us?" Angel was so surprised at this point that his face lost all expression. If Spike weren't so pissed off he'd have been laughing.

"'Course she bloody hears us, you pillock." Spike rolled his eyes. "Well, she can hear me. All the stuff coming from you is ... filtered through yours truly, I expect."

"So everything she gets of this conversation is tainted by your point of view."

"Somethin' like that. Right quick on the up-take aren't you?"

"I shouldn't be here," Angel said suddenly. He wandered past Spike and sat down at the study table, looking dazed.

"So why are you?" Spike pulled out his cigarettes and tucked one in the corner of his mouth. "She don't need you to be Mr. Overprotective now."

"No. Looks like she's got you for that."

"Hey, girl's endowed with Slayer-strength. I don't treat her like she's made of glass. She appreciates that." Spike patted his pockets, searching for his lighter.

"Sure she does." Angel bowed his head and caught Spike's feet in his peripheral vision. He looked back up. "Where are your boots?"

Spike gave him a cocky grin. "Under the Slayer's bed." He reeled back as though someone had struck him, his unlit cigarette dropping to the floor. "Ow! Bloody hell, it was a _joke_."

Angel realized that Buffy had somehow managed to reprimand Spike without actually being in the same room and he was both pleased and disconcerted by the discovery.

"Oh, now that was cute." Spike complained to Buffy, aggrieved and all but oblivious to Angel's pensive stare. "A stroke of genius, really."

Angel's countenance took on a tinge that was decidedly green. He gasped and collapsed forward onto the table, his hands pressed to his temples. 

Spike finally noticed his Sire's discomfort, taking in the sickly cast beneath his already pale skin, and frowned. "Oi. You okay there?" 

He'd never seen a vampire faint - the whole lack of blood-flow thing not being a major issue - but Angel appeared as though he was about to change that.

"No, he's ... fine," Spike assured Buffy via the link, squinting at the elder vamp. Her concern was passing through into him and it was an unusual sensation. He'd never previously been especially concerned about Angel's welfare. Hell, the deader his Sire was the better.

He felt the sharp sting of the Slayer's displeasure and winced. So, wishing Angel dead wasn't approved by the Buffy Summers Board of Right Stuff, he could work around that.

Angel straightened, grimaced and peered up at him. Spike was shocked to see blood-red tears in his eyes. 

"I think I just got some sort of message," Angel said, his voice shaky and distant. "From Drusilla."


	7. A Loopy Type Thing

****

Chapter Seven - A LOOPY TYPE THING

Xander was confused.

He'd like to say that it was an unusual position for him to be in after all these years fighting Sunnydale's rampaging evil, but he was still the one guy who was always stumbling through the dark. Things just didn't seem to collate well for him.

"So, Angel got some kind of psycho-telegram from Dru?" he asked, just to clarify, and everyone looked at him wearily.

"Yeah, we said that already." Willow frowned, but it wasn't like she hadn't been doing a whole lot of frowning anyway. "A sort of flashy-pictured mind-warpy thing. What we've got to work out is what she was trying to say."

"Good luck, Red." Spike snorted and went back to watching the Magic Box's front door. He was waiting for Buffy to arrive. "Daffy bloody woman," he muttered. "Off her bleedin' scone."

Angel looked at him, still not able to equate this Spike with the violently protective vampire who'd stayed loyal to Drusilla for a hundred years. He didn't mention the outburst, but asked something else that was troubling him. 

"Where's Giles?"

"I really don't know," Willow answered. "I haven't seen him since he went to check on Apollyon. And that was, like, hours ago."

"Y-you don't think something ... happened to Mr. Giles?" Tara asked. "I mean, it's not like him to leave the store for this long without putting someone in charge."

"I'm in charge," Anya declared. "I'm the in-charge person when he's not here."

"That's great, honey," Xander assured her. "But again, what's this message thing?"

Angel sighed and shrugged tense shoulders. His eyes were puffy, closed almost into slits, and ringed by dark purple bruises. And his head ached. If this was what Cordelia had to endure with her visions, then he'd have to remember to be more sympathetic. "I'll explain it more when Buffy gets here. She's got a starring role."

"She does?" Spike swung back to stare at his Sire. "And you didn't feel the need to share that earlier? She's only comin' in on her own, Peaches. Some nasty thing could grab her on the way." He shifted a little where he sat on the counter, fighting the urge to dart out and find her. 

"She can look out for herself, Spike. You told me that, remember?"

"Yeah, but..." Spike frowned and returned somewhat sulkily to his vigil. 

Damn it, he hated having his own words thrown back at him like that. That Angel was right didn't count. Besides, he could feel that she was okay, and he'd know if something were happening...

Spike doubled over sharply, his newfound breath leaving his body in a whoosh. He groaned and fell forward off the counter.

"You alright, pet?" he asked breathlessly, sitting up and gingerly testing his ribs. "Still in one piece?" He nodded and then turned to the Scoobies. "Vamp in the cemetery," he reported. "No big."

"Okay, that was funny." Xander said, a huge grin splitting his face. "Here's hopin' a whole fleet of fledglings are rising tonight, 'cause I'm all for the bumbling Spike show."

"That's only gonna happen when she gets hit, Harris. You really pushin' for a round of Kick the Slayer?"

"Uh, no. I guess not." Xander became subdued and was immediately on the receiving end of a thorough Anya-hugging.

Spike watched the couple for a moment. 

He was actually feeling jealous of the whelp's relationship now. Monkey-boy loved the former vengeance demon for who she was, regardless of her nefarious evil-doing past. It wasn't an issue for them. That was _exactly_ what he wanted from the Slayer. 

Acceptance. 

Spike wanted acceptance - and not because of some daft accidental link either.

He sighed heavily and returned to his countertop lookout. His attention centered on the front entrance an instant before the door opened.

Buffy sauntered in, his wayward boots dangling from one hand. She didn't appear any the worse for wear after her encounter in the cemetery, the only evidence of it being the light coating of dust on her clothes.

She immediately gave a mental heads-up and tossed his footwear at him.

"Ta, pet." Spike pulled on the sturdy leather boots and began appreciatively swinging his legs, enjoying their familiar weight. His heels thumped rhythmically against the counter and he reached a grand total of three bangs before the Scoobies collectively ordered him to stop. He slipped in another for good measure, earning a scathing glare from Angel, and hopped off the counter to stand at Buffy's side.

"What's with Angel's face?" she asked him via the link, after instinctively grabbing his hand.

"Dunno, love. Personally, I've always thought his looks were overrated. That whole caveman-brow thing doesn't do it for me."

She didn't bother rolling her eyes at him, but he grinned as if she had anyway. "Dru side-effect," he told her, speaking aloud this time. "Makes me glad she didn't get into this noggin when she tried."

Buffy tilted her head, taking in Angel's injuries. "I don't know, I kinda think you'd look good in purple."

"Well, I've got a recent addition on the old ribcage that's gonna be decorative."

"Yeah," she twisted to peer at him, her brow furrowed. "That was wiggy. You got the full brunt of it, too. I haven't got a mark on me."

"Truly?" Spike feigned gratitude. "Hey, that's just dandy. So honored to be your linky punching bag, Slayer. Fancy another go?"

"Idiot," she muttered, and then turned her attention back to the matter at hand. "So, guys, what did Dru have to say for herself?"

Angel had been observing the Buffy and Spike interplay, thinking that he could be more objective now he'd had a chance to get used to the idea of their connection. Oddly enough, they seemed even closer than they had before. It was sickening. It was more than sickening. He'd felt sickened plenty of times before and this was much worse. 

"It's hard to explain," he said carefully. "It was like a slideshow. The first one was Giles as a vampire. Which, by the way, was exactly how Cordy described her vision."

Buffy blinked. "You call her _Cordy_?"

"Slayer," Spike gave her a mental nudge. "Cheerleader girl's not the focal point here."

"Right. Vampy-Giles. Psycho-bitch. I'm on it." Buffy took a deep breath. "So, how does Dru know about _Cordy's_ vision?" She gave the name a derisive twist, causing Spike to grit his teeth to keep from laughing.

"I'm thinking that Dru probably sent it to her," Angel offered. "Same way that she sent mine. Though Cordy-_elia_," he stumbled over the name, "Did say that Dru was actually in hervision."

"Stands to reason, I guess," Willow commented. "It would have been around the same time as Apollyon cranked up the screamy-fest."

"Yeah, I'll pay that, but it doesn't explain how Dru knew about the Watcher's condition in the first place," Spike remarked. "She didn't know about the Slayer 'til she tried the mystical prod n' probe on me."

"Maybe the moon told her," Buffy suggested dryly. "Or one of those stupid dolls she carts around."

"Miss Edith," Spike and Angel supplied synchronously. 

"Th-they all have the same name?" Tara asked, her eyes wide. "That's just weird."

"Everything about Dru is weird," Xander explained. "She's the certified, card-carrying Queen of Insano-ville."

"Hey," Spike protested, glaring at him. 

The glare rapidly lost its heat as he realized that he didn't have to jump to Drusilla's defense anymore. "No, wait. Who am I kiddin'?" He shook his head. "Lad's right." 

He didn't understand how it had happened. How had he gone from worshipping the woman to thinking she'd be better off dusty? 

Buffy squeezed his hand and he scowled at her. She was doing the 'Poor Sad Spike' bit again. He could feel it.

"What?" she asked, confused by his reaction.

"Don't play the dumb-blonde card now, Summers. I'm onto you."

"Oversensitive much?" 

Buffy pulled her hand away from his and Spike was immediately regretful. He really was being unreasonable about the sympathy. And sorry-touchy was better than no-touchy.

He gave her a tentative smile and offered his hand back. 

Buffy ignored him. "So, what came next?" she asked Angel, folding her arms defensively across her chest.

"Oh, uh..." Angel was caught out by the question. He'd been watching the couple and dreaming up imaginative ways of having Spike disemboweled. "You did."

"I did what?" 

Buffy began drumming her fingers against her folded arms. It was the only sign that she was annoyed, apart from the burning intensity in her eyes.

"The next thing I saw was you being tortured. I don't know by who or what, but the torturer-person felt ... familiar?"

Spike had walked away from Buffy the moment she rejected his hand and was behind the counter, randomly pulling objects off the shelves and pretending to look at them. He dropped the opaque crystal globe he'd been holding at Angel's revelation and it rolled noisily across the hard floor.

"Torture?" He felt the fear slam into him like a sledgehammer - a combination of Buffy's and his own. "Of the pointy variety? Or the not-so-pointy?"

"It was hard to tell. I got the impression of something being cut so there might have been some kind of knife involved."

"Oh, and that's so incredibly helpful," Spike jeered. "You might ask that chatty Girl Friday of yours to give you a lesson or two in vision analysis, mate."

"Whoa, calm down there Pulse Boy," Xander interjected. "Unless you and the Brood King wanna take the macho posturing outside? Some of us more mature types happen to like the productive thing, you know."

Buffy pursed her lips to keep from laughing at Angel's dumbfounded expression. Xander had never stood up to him properly before - not in an honestly unafraid way. He usually kept to bravado in the elder vampire's presence. He'd always given Spike a hard time, though. Theirs was a relationship based on mutual non-admiration. It had respected boundaries.

Spike glowered at the lot of them and stalked out the side door into the alleyway. 

Bugger it. He didn't need the aggravation. Buffy was being a bitch and Angel's smug face always rubbed him the wrong way. Okay, so it was amusing to see him looking all raccoon-like with his eyes bruised, but that didn't make it any easier to be in his company.

He only made it out as far as the second dumpster before he realized that he'd never got around to bringing up the subject of his turning. Well, that sucked. He'd have to go back now, just to satisfy his curiosity.

He pivoted around to stare at the door. Buffy already knew he hadn't gone anywhere, but he was risking having the Scoobies laugh at him. Though why he was even concerned about that had him stumped.

Spike sighed. The only way he was going to find out was by swallowing the last bit of pride he had left and asking Angel about his history.

As he took a step back toward the store, he caught a glimpse of something in the corner of his eye - something trailing from the partially open dumpster. He stopped and peered at it.

A long piece of industrial-strength cable.

Was that? Nah, it couldn't be. Could it?

Spike opened the dumpster's lid. He was still dragging the rest of the cable from it as Buffy came out to join him.

"Hungry?" she asked as she reached his side, evidently no longer mad at him. "'Cause I thought you were past the foraging-in-garbage stage. We could order a pizza."

Spike triumphantly held up the other end of the cable and gestured down its length toward the accumulated coil at his feet. "Recognize this?"

Buffy blinked. "Are you adding to your rope collection, or is that -?"

"Apollyon's halter top."

"How'd it get -?" she trailed off, shaking her head. "Why am I asking when I already _know_ that you don't know?"

"Habit," Spike suggested. "Or maybe you just love the sound of my voice."

"I do," Buffy admitted quietly and he gaped at her in surprise. "When you're not being all obnoxious. Which is hardly ever."

Spike frowned. "I'm never obnoxious," he said. "I'm a bad ass villain, a thorn in the side of life, I'm a ... I'm just..." He made a rumbling noise in his throat, a low and frustrated sound. "Sod it. I don't know what the bleedin' hell I am anymore." 

He kicked the dumpster savagely, creating a huge crater in its side. 

"Oh ... bloody hell. Sorry."

"Hey, it's not my dumpster. What do I care?"

Spike smiled at her, pleased that she cared enough to try and lighten his mood.

Buffy slung a companionable arm around his waist and gave him a friendly squeeze. "Besides the obnoxious thing, you can be pretty stupid sometimes, too."

"Way to be supportive, Slayer."

"No, I mean, you know that we have the link thing, but you try and ignore it. You treat it like it's not real or something. How come you can't accept my feelings like I accept yours?"

"You didn't," he said. "Not straight off. It took the tellin' of it to get it to sink in proper. Didn't feel all that real before that, did it?"

Buffy gazed up at him and was instantly lost in his eyes. 

Those clear, pure blue eyes. 

She had a flashback to that night in the cemetery when he'd first come back to town. The night that she'd first realized how beautiful his eyes actually were.

"It was before," she said suddenly, still staring at him.

Spike reached up to brush back a strand of her hair. "What's that?" he asked, his voice soft.

Buffy pulled back a little and searched his face. "It was definitely before. Why didn't I remember that?"

"You're gonna have to expand on that statement, love," Spike said. "Apart from the fluttery stomach and increased pulse-rate, I'm gettin' bugger all from you."

"I felt some sort of connection to you before you tried the mind-reading thing," Buffy explained. "_Before_ the Serpiente. _Before_ the link."

"Bollocks."

Spike wrenched away from her, he didn't want to hear this. He bent down and began looping the cable over his arm.

"Okay, now you're doing the stupid avoidy thing again. What is that?"

"Protection," Spike muttered. He stood up and indicated the roll of cable. "And this has priority now." He headed back toward the shop.

"Spike?" Buffy called his name aloud, not wanting to use the link for this.

He halted, but didn't turn around.

"I really do care about you. It's not sympathy or pity. Whatever this is - it's real."

She felt, more than saw, his spine straighten defensively. He looked back over his shoulder at her, as though gauging her sincerity then nodded once and went inside.

Buffy smiled and followed him. It takes the telling of it...

~*[+]*~

Angel peered up at his Childe as he strolled in from the alley and deposited a huge roll of cable onto the study table.

"Productive trip?" he asked sarcastically. He leant a little to one side to watch Buffy as she followed Spike in.

Spike snorted and folded his arms.

"Hey, is that -?" Willow stared at the cable as if it were a venomous snake. "It's not, is it?"

"The same," Spike said. "It was in the dumpster out back."

"Oh man, I don't like where this is going." Xander reached out to toy with a section of the cable.

"It is going Grr?" Anya demanded. "Because if it's going Grr, I'd like to know what will happen. Would I be the in-charge person on a full-time basis? And would that mean that I get more money?"

"So what's interesting about this?" Angel asked, gesturing toward the coil. "Is it significant?"

"Way significant," Buffy informed him. "It's practically dripping with significant-ness." She paused and wrinkled her nose. "I wish I hadn't used the word 'dripping' there," she said to Spike.

The younger vamp's lips quirked, but he didn't smile. That reaction or lack thereof, conveyed the situation's seriousness to Angel.

"This has to do with Giles," he said.

"And Apollyon." Spike sucked at the inside of his cheek, thinking.

There was that name again. 

"Who is this guy?" Angel wondered aloud.

"Oh, he's not a guy," Willow said. "Well, _technically _he is, but..."

"Keratos demon," Spike supplied. He threw one arm upward. "Yay tall. Green. Scaly. Right royal pain in the..."

"He's also the reason that we're up to our necks in the deep stuff," Xander said. "Ground Zero infectiony guy." He pointed back and forth between Buffy and Spike. "The reason for the loopy type thing between the deadly duo there."

"I think I saw him," Angel disclosed. "In Dru's slideshow."

Spike narrowed his eyes. "So he's alive then?"

"Yeah," Angel drifted a moment, trying to remember. "Unless he's already lost one of his claws?"

"Nope. He was all intact the last time we saw him." Buffy rested her weight against Spike and he automatically threw an arm across her shoulders. "How does he lose it?"

"I couldn't see that part." 

Angel gritted his teeth, wanting desperately to leap to his feet and forcibly split the couple apart. He _was_ wearing his forearm stake-sheaths - one good flick of the wrist...

"Was it the same person you saw torturing me?" Buffy asked. "The familiar-type person?"

"You think its Giles," Spike said suddenly, picking up her train of thought. The arm across her shoulders flexed protectively. "Look, there's no way that the Watcher would harm you." He smiled tightly. "Now, me, on the other hand, I'd be way up there on his to do list. "

Angel shifted in his seat. All this talk of Spike and torture was getting uncomfortable. Especially since he'd actually done it before, and had recently been daydreaming of repeating the performance. Sometimes his demon was just a bit closer to the surface than he would like.

"He wouldn't hurt you either," Buffy said. "Not now. He knows I would protect you because of the link."

"Yeah, right. With the link. Without it I'd be linin' the inside of his Dust-Buster."

Buffy frowned and responded with one of his favorite retorts.

"Bollocks," she said.

"Watch your language, pet." Spike admonished. "There are kids present."

"Where?" Xander peered around the store. "Oh, you mean us."

Spike smirked at him.

"Oh God," Buffy detached herself from his side, putting on an exaggerated show of disgust. "You're so incredibly OLD!"

Spike pinched the skin of her arm and she nudged him with her hip.

"How come you can pick and punch each other like that without feeling the other's reaction?" Angel inquired.

Buffy and Spike peered at one another.

"Buggered if I know," the younger vamp replied. "Think it's got somethin' to do with the intent of it."

"Hmm," Willow contemplated the suggestion. "It probably works on the same basis as the chip does. You know, only activating when you really _mean _to hurt someone."

"That's how I did him damage when I wasn't here," Buffy revealed. "I tapped into his head and make him _think_ he was gonna hurt me."

Spike glared. Then he got a speculative glint in his eye. He blinked and appeared to lose focus for a moment.

"Ooh, ow!" 

Buffy jerked back and put a hand to her forehead, her eyes getting teary. She cuffed him soundly on the shoulder, pushing him away.

"Aha!" Spike chortled, ignoring both the blow and his own chip-based twinge of pain. "Works both ways!" He pointed at her triumphantly. "No more of this long-distance discipline, Slayer. Not unless you want a bit o' retribution."

Anya looked at them carefully. "You should have sex," she announced.

Everybody stared at her, shocked.

"Well, they should. I mean, there's always been this suppressed lust between them. They just ... dance around each other and avoid the subject." She seemed to suddenly realize that she was speaking to a dumbstruck audience. "What?"

"Ahn, I thought we discussed the whole 'thinking before saying stuff' thing," Xander looked mortified. And more than a little disturbed.

Angel stood up and walked out of the store.

"Think it upset the vision getting guy," Xander said. "Major clues leaving the building."

"Let him go," Spike sneered. "Don't need him."

Buffy scowled, and he narrowed his eyes at her. He tucked his thumbs in his waistband and angled his chin, determined to put in at least a token protest. He arched his eyebrow and then turned and followed his Sire.

Buffy got the message. It was his idea to go after Angel - not hers.

"'S okay," she told the others. "Spike'll bring him back."

~*[+]*~

Spike stepped out of the store and ran straight into Angel's back. He grunted and edged around to stand alongside him.

"Havin' a soulful moment?" he casually inquired. "Wanna be alone? Right then, I'll just be on me way..."

"Stay," Angel said, so quietly that Spike was glad he'd retained his vampire hearing.

"Why? So you can regale me with your stunning wit and let me know that Buffy'll never love me? News flash, Poncey, I already realize that."

"So..."

"So, what? Why bother?" Spike huffed and lit up a cigarette, staring off down the street. "I'm not like you," he said. "I don't leave the people I love. Ever. I can't."

"You left Drusilla."

"Hey, Mr. Font of Knowledge, she left me. Granted it was _because_ of Buffy, but that's just semantics."

"You're telling me that you would have stayed."

"Would've stuck with the minx 'til she up and staked me for spoilin' one of her little tea parties or somethin'." Spike shrugged. "I'm a sucker for a pretty face."

Angel folded his arms and stared evenly at him, his gaze not wavering once. "Tell me about Buffy."

Spike returned the gaze for a beat, then bowed his head and tossed his half-smoked cigarette onto the footpath. "What's to tell? Fell in love with the chit, got chipped and decided to hang 'round and help out." 

He scuffed the tip of his boot against the ground. "That was brilliant for a time, but it didn't last. I wanted more. I wanted the whole sodding enchilada. It wasn't gonna happen, and I figured I could get over her if I left, so I bailed out to Mexico for a few months. Met up with Apollyon, got a few tips on mind readin' and had the brilliant brainstormin' idea to try it out on the Slayer. See how she felt." 

Angel nodded. "And that's when the link kicked in."

"Like a bloody mule, mate." Spike shook his head. "You've no idea."

"You're not happy about it," Angel observed. That was the confusing part about this. He would have thought that Spike would be taking everything he could _while_ he could.

Spike took on a demeanor that could only be described as guilty. He searched his Sire's face for a moment and then seemed to decide something. 

"I need her to love me for who I am. Not because of some random mystical thing," he confessed. "I'm a pitiful romantic sap. Always have been."

"Yeah, I know." Angel smiled crookedly. "I used to hate you for it."

"When? Before your miraculous soul-infusion?"

"Umm. It was strange. When we turned you, you didn't just retain the memories of your former self, you kept ... I don't know, an _emotional_ memory - a kind of moral sense or something." He laughed derisively. "I mean, it was almost like a part of your soul was still there."

"Did you say ... part of my -?" Spike stared aghast at Angel, his secondhand heartbeat pounding like the full percussion section of an orchestra, timpani drum at the forefront.

"My _soul?_" He stumbled away to sit on one of the wooden benches outside the store, a hand pressed against his chest. "My bloody soul. Oh God, no."

"What?" Angel demanded. "I didn't mean _literally_."

Buffy was suddenly at his side, the Magic Box's front door slamming behind her. "What did you do?"

"I ... nothing." Angel turned to her with his hands held up. "I didn't touch him."

"Not physically, dumb-ass," Buffy snapped. "He's hurting on the inside." 

She sat alongside Spike and captured the hand he had clutched to his chest. They locked eyes for a moment then she leant forward and placed a reassuring kiss on his forehead. She swiveled back to Angel and the protective fierceness in her eyes surprised him. 

"Soul?" she asked, her voice deceptively soft.

"Oh, you got that part." Angel tried smiling - it didn't quite come off.

"So did he, apparently," Buffy drawled. 

Spike glared at his Sire. He shot to his feet and angrily shoved Angel backward. "Tell, you self-absorbed bastard," he challenged. Another shove. "Tell me what happened to make me like this."

Angel reflexively knocked the younger vamp to the ground, where he sprawled in a heap, his duster spread beneath him. The spontaneous action found him on the receiving end of Buffy's powerful right cross.

"Hey, what the -?" Angel rubbed at his smarting cheek, not understanding what all the fuss was about. Spike didn't really have a soul, did he?

Buffy confronted him, standing over Spike's prone body like a mother-bear defending her cub. Angel was startled to see a kind of electric spark in her eyes. 

"You _neve_r lay a hand on us again," she announced. "Ever. Understand?"

__

Us? They were an us? That was new.

So was that sparkly thing in her eyes.

Buffy turned her back on him to attend to Spike, crouching at his side.

"Are you -?" she reached out and tenderly cupped his cheek.

"Right as rain, love," he laughed humorlessly. "For a bloke who just found he's most likely got a semi-soul on top of a semi-human thing and a chip that makes him useless."

"Not useless. Unique." Buffy smiled gently. "Uniquely unique, remember?"

Spike snorted and batted her hand away. "Rot," he mumbled, getting to his feet. 

"Okay, just stop!" Buffy shouted in his mind. "Stop with the trying to push me away." She moved to stand directly in front of him and set a restraining hand smack dab in the middle of his chest. "I'm a part of this too, you know." 

Spike's head snapped back and he watched her distrustfully, the absolute despair in his eyes tearing at her. She could sense him withdrawing into himself. He seemed to get all introspective when he was hurting the most. Not that he'd ever admit to it.

But that was also when he was at his most outwardly violent. He loved to take his suffering out on other things - demons mostly, though anything handy came a close second.

"Uh, Buffy?"

She'd actually forgotten that Angel was there. That was a first.

"Stay out of it," she warned, not even turning to look at him.

"But..."

"Spike and I need to work this out now," Buffy told him. "Or we won't be able to help Giles and Apollyon."

Angel nodded. She was right. But then, she usually was. "Okay. I'll go back inside until you're ready." He lurked for a few minutes, not sure if he really should leave.

"Angel?" Spike lifted his eyes to the older vamp - the pain in their blue depths was astonishingly alive. "Piss off."


	8. Demon Stuff

****

Chapter Eight - DEMON STUFF

Giles approached the Old Crawford Street Mansion with the knowledge that he was being drawn there - that he was under the influence of some kind of psychic siren song. 

Apollyon lumbered behind him, aware that something was happening with the Watcher, but not entirely sure of what. He'd been following the human around Sunnydale for what seemed like hours, trying to make sense of the his aura and occasional mutterings about Spike and the Slayer.

From what he could ascertain, the Serpiente had somehow mutated under the destructive influence of the Hellmouth. It had fed off Spike's love for the Slayer and linked them together, as was meant. But it had also fed on the Watcher's hatred of the vampire and allied itself through him with Spike's demon side. This was where the danger lay.

The Watcher was no longer in full control.

~*[+]*~

Angel closed the door of the Magic Box behind him, leaving Buffy and Spike in the street outside. The Scoobies all looked at him expectantly.

"Spike's coming back too, right?" Anya asked point blank. "You didn't kill him, or run him out of town?"

Angel brushed his fingers gingerly over his injured cheek. He had the makings of another bruise. "He hasn't gone anywhere. He doesn't do that."

"Yeah, you know, even when you toss him out on his ear he's at you again the next day," Xander rolled his eyes. "It's like the never-ending Spike-a-thon."

"Oh, or - or that song," Willow put in. "You know, the one about the cat comin' on back."

Angel managed a small smile at the analogy. "He ... uh, he and Buffy have something they have to work out." He avoided their eyes. "They'll be in soon."

"What did you do?" Willow asked him suspiciously.

"Why does everyone around here assume that everything is my fault?" Angel threw his hands up in surrender. "What does it take for you guys? I'm not evil, okay? Spike is." 

He glanced back over his shoulder at the door. "I think."

~*[+]*~

Spike had started the pacing thing as soon as Angel had gone. He really was a great big ball of hyperactive energy when he was upset.

"Something clicked," Buffy commented, perching on the edge of a bench. "Major clickage, I can sense it. Something Angel said filled in a gap." 

Spike stopped the pacing long enough to throw her a questioning glance.

"William," she said, reading him. Then, "Hold up a sec, _William_?"

"Bloody right William," Spike spat. He rapped a fist against his breastbone. "A whole century he's been in here, plaguin' me with his ... goody goodness. Weak little prat. Trained myself to shut him out, to let the demon have all the say. But this sodding chip..."

"Subdued the demon side," Buffy nodded in understanding. "That's why you've been acting more human." She hesitated. "Are you saying that he's been back there the entire time you've been -?" She blinked, stunned. "The not-leaving thing is really ingrained there, isn't it?"

Spike's lips quirked. "Never one for the dramatic goodbye scene, me."

"William can't still be in there," Buffy insisted. "Not the original human version, otherwise you wouldn't have become a vampire."

"I didn't say he was all here," Spike griped. He resumed his pacing, albeit at a slower pace. "Not in your usual soul-having sense anyway. I'm just sayin' that there's always been _something_ in here, a wimpy something that makes me wanna _not_ do demon stuff. I call it William. You can call it a soul if you want but I've never been comfortable that label, it's too narrow a definition."

"But that means that you _chose_ to kill all those people."

Spike paused, standing directly in front of her. "It's not about choice, love. Not that simple. Shades of grey remember?" He shrugged. "I just let the demon have his space. I wouldn't be here without it. Besides which, it's easier that way. Your Watcher's probably figurin' that out as we speak."

"But if you knew..."

"I suspected," Spike explained. "That's all it was. Havin' Neanderthal-brow blurt it out like that was..." He made an ambiguous gesture. "Well, I've never had an epiphany before, but I expect that's what just happened." He shook his head. "Clickage," he murmured, smiling softly.

"So," Buffy concluded. "If this William thing is your 'soul', then you're just like Angel, huh? Except you haven't actually let it have much say in how you are. Until the chip, I mean."

"Gettin' tired of yammerin' about it, Slayer." Spike sighed. He tipped his head, the scarred eyebrow lifting inquisitively. "Wanna go get snockered?"

"We can't. We have to go and find Giles and Apollyon."

He nodded. "Knew you'd say that. Your sacred duty thing is a real bitch."

"That's what I keep saying."

Spike wavered for a moment, undecided. "Right then," he said finally. "Back to the bloody inquisition."

Buffy stood and pulled the door open. She'd already taken a half step inside before she realized that he'd deserted her. Why hadn't she sensed that he was gonna do that?

She rolled her eyes - stupid broody vampires and their stupid preternatural speed. 

"I know what you're doing," she called telepathically to his rapidly retreating psyche. "And believe me, buddy, you can't run away from this one."

~*[+]*~

The first thing they noticed was that she started to get clumsy - a stumble here, a few dropped books there.

Then she got giggly - loud giggly.

"What's with Buff?" Xander questioned the group in undertone. "The Spike thing? You think she's finally flipped?"

Angel glanced up from the sheet of paper he was writing on and stared sourly. "She's drunk."

"Nope. She's been here the whole time. How could she be -?" Willow's eyes widened. "Oh."

"Yeah. _He's_ drunk," Angel confirmed. "Consequently..." He gestured toward Buffy, who produced an enormous belch.

She smiled widely and swayed in her seat, her head bobbing rhythmically. "Ooh, I _love_ this song!"

"He's gotta be in a club somewhere," Willow surmised. "The Bronze?"

"We'll check there first." Angel abandoned his handwritten vision descriptions and got to his feet. He cupped a steadying hand beneath Buffy's elbow as she did the same.

"Sod off," she snapped, tugging her arm away so violently that she almost fell over. She blinked rapidly, composing herself, and turned back to him. 

"I get to kill him, okay?" she said in a moment of absolute sobriety. "Just me. No one else touches him." 

She ruined the self-possessed Slayer image by tripping up the stairs on the way out.

~*[+]*~

The gang, minus a Magic Box-bound Giles-spotting Xander and Anya, entered the Bronze to find it in the throes of an "Infernal Disco" night, complete with obligatory mirror ball and lava lamps.

"Ooh, way cool!" Willow exclaimed, immediately forgetting why she was there and dragging Tara toward the dance floor.

Angel watched the witches disappear into the crowd and shook his head. Talk about skewed priorities. They were way too unworried about what was happening.

He suddenly realized that Buffy was no longer draped unsteadily over his arm. He quickly scanned the area and spotted her heading unerringly for a dimly lit booth at the back of the room, almost like she was being drawn there. Peering through the crowd, Angel had to acknowledge that she probably was.

Buffy stopped as she reached the booth and folded her arms, unabashedly eyeing its occupant. She didn't say anything. She didn't have to.

Spike was slouched back against the wall, his eyes hooded as he surveyed the dancing throng. Several empty beer bottles sat on the table before him and another dangled from his hand, held loosely by the neck. That wasn't what made her stare. 

He'd changed.

He still wore his torn denim jeans and rumpled red T-shirt. He still wore his duster and boots. What _had_ changed since she last saw him were his lack of temperance - and his hair.

It still tangled about his ears and tumbled boyishly over his forehead. He hadn't cut it. It was just so... WHITE. He was practically glowing in the dark.

Typical - just when she was starting to get used to the _au naturel_ version, he'd reverted back to the bleached one.

Spike blinked sleepily and looked up, finally registering her presence.

"Hello cutie," he greeted and threw her a wobbly smile.

There was a world of hurt simmering under his drunkenness and she decided to let the lecture about his intoxicated condition slide for now.

"Hi yourself, Back-to-Bleach Boy." She sat down next to him and tugged on one of his curls.

"Whossat?" He frowned, and Buffy smiled. 

He'd actually forgotten that he'd had all the color sucked from his hair. It was funny, really.

"So, the Big Bad's back, huh?"

"Where?" The out and out confusion on his face was priceless. He abruptly struggled to his feet. "Angelus!" he cried. "You bloody poofy ... wanker!"

Buffy pulled him back down as Angel approached them.

"Back to normal?" he inquired.

"Him or me?"

"Either."

"I sobered up as soon as I got in the same room with him," Buffy said. "Weirdness rears its ... weird head again. But hey, gettin' used to that now."

Angel nodded. He looked amused, though how he managed that without changing his facial expression was beyond her.

"What about the hair?" he asked.

"Hair?" Spike piped up. "Hey, Broomstick Brow's an expert on hair." He gestured at his Sire with his beer. "It don't stand up like that on its own." He leant forward. "It used to be long, didn't it, Dad?" He tipped his head, delighting in his retrospective description. "You used to tie it back."

Angel gave him a withering look. "So did you."

There was a long pause and then both vampires smiled, reliving old memories.

Buffy peered speculatively back and forth between the pair, trying to imagine them a century ago. They were probably hot then too.

"I was," Spike assured her, picking up on the thought. "He ... wasn't. Ever."

Buffy laughed and playfully nudged him with her knee. He covered it with his hand and squeezed possessively. She placed her own hand over his and glanced up to find him gazing at her.

"God, I love you," he declared. He lowered his head and rested it against her shoulder, sighing contentedly.

Buffy froze in shock, her eyes darting up to meet Angel's. 

The older vampire gave her a feeble, somewhat strained smile, then turned on his heel and left.

Spike nuzzled her neck. "Is he gone?"

She shoved him away from her. "You're impossible!"

He snorted and took a long draft of his beer.

"So," Buffy offered, uncomfortable now. "Disco huh?"

"Disco sucks." Spike slammed his empty bottle onto the table.

"It does not. It's like ... classic, or something."

"I was there when it happened, Slayer. It sucked then too." Spike gave the boisterous club-goers a contemptuous sneer. "This lot remind me of that time I turned up at Studio 54."

Buffy raised her eyebrows at him and he shrugged. "Dru's idea."

"Was it ultra-cool? You know, like the movie?"

"Never saw the flick, love, but back in the day I chanced upon Michael Jackson and fed on a couple of swingers. Kept me wired for a week after."

"You met Michael Jackson?"

"Oh yeah. He's not human, you know."

"Like that's a news flash."

They shared a conspiratory grin.

"So why'd you do it?" Buffy asked.

"Do what? Get sloshed?"

"No, that part I can understand." She reached up and yanked out a tuft of his hair.

He winced and glowered at her. "Hey!"

She waved it under his nose. "Peroxide therapy."

Spike grabbed her wrist, keeping it still so that he could focus on what she held. He blinked at the white strands. 

"I didn't."

"Yea-huh." Buffy nodded enthusiastically. "It's like a bad horror film. Punk Vampire Part Two - Return of the Deadhead."

"Sodding hell."

"If it's any consolation, you're more you now."

"And that means what? Spike's an inebriated idiot?"

"Yep." Buffy grinned. "No, it's just that you weren't fooling anybody with that whole new-look-me thing. You were trying to be something you weren't. This is you." She tenderly tucked a stray curl behind his ear. "The hair is who you are."

"That's incredibly shallow, Slayer. And here I was thinkin' that the bloody soul thing made me who I was."

"Well, that too. I was being ... symbolic."

"O-Kay." Spike gave her a skeptical look and then pointed to his empties. "I'm out."

"Over and out," Buffy clarified. "We're leaving."

"Wanna take me home, huh?" Spike leered. "Wanna have your wicked way?"

"Don't tempt me," Buffy muttered, hauling him to his feet. 

They went into the back alley together, having reverted at some point in the departure to their recently acquired habit of holding hands.

Buffy briefly wondered if the feel of a vampire's skin was addictive. 

Spike, still under the influence of his beer-binge, and the bottle of vodka that had come before it, intercepted the thought and a goofy grin plastered itself across his face.

The couple took several determined steps toward the street, stopped, and then turned back around. Their actions were all completely synchronized.

"Bet we'd clean up at the ballroom dancin' championships," Spike deadpanned. "Points for timin'."

Buffy ignored him and peered into the shadows, her spider sense tingling. There was definitely something demony afoot.

"How 'bout ice-skating?" Spike continued. "Better than that poncey bloody Torvill 'n Dean." He snorted. "'Bolero' my ass."

She frowned at him then. "You skate?"

He nodded. "Wasn't kiddin' about the dancin' either." He wagged his eyebrows suggestively. "I got moves you've never seen."

Buffy was denied the chance to puncture his ego when a wheezed-hiss of a voice emanated from the darkness.

"Slayer Spike," it proclaimed.

Apollyon's massive, horned head popped out of obscurity for a second before retreating. For a big guy he was pretty good at the hiding thing.

"Was that his version of 'Psst, over here'?" Buffy asked. She blinked. "Hey, I understood what he said and I don't speak the lingo."

"I do," Spike proudly declared. He actually raised his hand before realizing what that meant.

Vampire and Slayer stared at each other. No doubt about it, the link had upped the creepy ante again. Was there no end to how close they could get?

"Does this mean I'm as smart as you now?" Buffy wondered. "Scary. Good thing I'm not at school anymore. Oh, except for Modern History, damn it. I could have aced that."

Spike was silent, but she could hear his mind ticking over.

"I know the names of all the Backstreet Boys," he announced suddenly. "_There's_ something scary." He began to list them, counting off on his fingers. "Brian, Nick, Howie..."

Buffy jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow.

"Oi! Watch it," he complained. "Sportin' your bruises, remember?"

She shrugged indifferently and dragged him toward Apollyon's hidey-hole.

"I hate you," Spike greeted the lurking Keratos, scowling sullenly. "Rotten sodding Serpiente-carrier."

Apollyon just looked at him, and then abruptly gave him a solid whack upside the head with one of his tentacles.

Buffy winced at the blow, a nasty reddish welt appearing along one side of her face. "Well, that stung," she said, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Spike shoved the Keratos against the brick wall in retaliation - no mean feat considering the difference in their sizes. "I can still do demons over, you know," he snarled viciously, his eyes burning intently. 

It was his don't-mess-with-Spike expression. Fully-fledged master vampires had been known to run screaming from it, though for some reason it only provoked laughter and ridicule from Slayers - _his_ Slayer in particular.

He waited for a beat, making sure that Apollyon understood the message, then turned back to Buffy and ran his fingers soothingly across her cheek. 

"Alright, pet? Not too bad?" 

When she nodded, he realized something horrifying. 

"I'm sober." He glared. "He bloody well made me sober. Now I'm really pissed off."

He whipped back around, more than ready to beat the Keratos into a slimy green pulp.

Apollyon held up his enormous clawed hands in defense. "Of Drusilla is news," he hastily divulged.

Spike's fist paused mid-flight, but it remained cocked. "Well, go on then," he said. "Keep yappin'. Might save you if you're lucky."

Buffy stepped in front of Spike and curved her fingers over his tightly clenched hand. She gently lowered it to his side, stroking his knuckles and sending him calming vibes.

"I think he came to talk, Spike," she said. "Knocking him out might kinda defeat the purpose."

"And when did you become Little Miss Peacenik?" Spike was struggling to stay annoyed. He wanted to hit something, damn it! She wasn't being fair.

Buffy kept her gaze steady and his anger abruptly deflated, punctured not only by her determination, but also by the burgeoning affection that he sensed behind it.

"Developed a real bad case of the warm fuzzies there, Slayer," he accused.

"Well, duh! Link?" She rolled her eyes. "Besides, we couldn't hurt him when he was all screechy, how'd you figure it would be any different now?"

Spike looked chagrined. "Just wanted to have a go," he mumbled. "A spot of violence before bed 'n all that rot."

"It's two a.m.!"

"And your point is?"

"Right through that freakish humany heart of yours if you don't shut up and let feely-feeler guy have his say."

"Appreciate," Apollyon hissed, gracing her with a hideous yellow-toothed smile.

"'S Okay," Buffy acknowledged. "Though, hey, could have done without the happy face from hell."

Apollyon was about to impart his news when the door to the Bronze flew open and he once again retreated into the shadows.

"Oi!" Spike shouted to the group leaving the club, and they whirled around in surprise.

Buffy hadn't even recognized Angel, Willow or Tara. 

Where _was_ her head at?

"Believe we're hung over," Spike volunteered by way of an explanation. "A bit mud-stuck, not exactly on the ball."

"And whose fault is that?"

"His." Spike pointed a condemning finger at the looming Keratos-shaped figure behind them. "He did the soberin'. I think a hell of a lot straighter when I've got a couple under me belt."

Buffy glanced down - her mind suddenly fixed on speculating what was under said belt.

"Let's keep it clean, Slayer." Spike's voice purred in her head.

"I - What?" She blushed furiously, mortified at being caught out.

"Oh, don't play the dainty ice-queen. I know good 'n well what you're ponderin' under all that perky bottle-blondeness."

"Bottle-blonde?" Buffy was offended. "Hey Pot, I'm Kettle. Black much?"

"More like white," Willow commented as she reached them. She grinned. "So, what's with hangin' out in the alley, you crazy hangin'-out-in-the-alley people?"

Tara smiled crookedly, enjoying her girlfriend's humor.

"What _is_ that?" Angel was peering past them into the gloom, having picked up the other presence almost immediately. "Is that him?"

The Keratos cautiously moved back into the light, towering over the much smaller Buffy and Spike.

Despite already having seen the demon, Willow and Tara both squealed and clutched each other. Angel continued to peer at him suspiciously.

"I've heard of you," he said.

"Keratos demons are legendary," Buffy began. "Giles says..."

"No, I mean I've heard of _him_. Specifically." Angel's eyes narrowed. "You all kept mentioning him and it set a few bells ringing. He's a mercenary, for one."

"You're a bit behind the times there, aren't you?" Spike jeered. He gave his Sire his best 'you're-a-daft-git' look. "Dru hired him, you blundering prat. That's how this started."

Angel frowned. "I didn't think Dru was that..."

"Smart?" Spike scoffed. "She is. Mad as a hatter, sure, but a clever little chit." 

"I was gonna say 'gullible'." Angel awarded his Childe a superior smile. "I just remembered where I heard the name. From Doyle." 

Everyone remained quiet, not really being familiar with who he was talking about. Music from the Bronze thumped distantly in the background.

"Irish guy? _Used_ to get all the great helping-helpless visions before Cordy?" Angel sighed impatiently. "Your pal there occasionally works for the PTB."

"The who-tee-huh?" Buffy's brow furrowed as she tried to work out what the letters stood for. She was enlightened by using Spike's more comprehensive knowledge. "The Powers That _Be_?" She gawked at the demon. "Are you kidding me?"

"Yikes," Willow whispered. "That's just..." She trailed off, awestruck.

"Drusilla was just a means to an end, wasn't she?" Angel asked the demon. He snorted. "You guys are too much."

"Unexpected arises," Apollyon warbled. His tongues flicked nervously. "Hellmouth mutate."

"The Hellmouth unexpectedly mutated what?" Spike pivoted around to face the Keratos. He could barely restrain himself from strangling the reticence out of the creature barehanded. Buffy was the only thing holding him back.

The entire assemblage stared at the demon.

Apollyon shuffled under their scrutiny. "Tale of long involved be," he offered. 

"Looks like its back to the bloody shop then," Buffy sighed, completely unaware of how much like Spike she had just sounded.

~*[+]*~

The Magic Box was oddly deserted when they arrived.

Granted, it was almost three in the morning, but Xander and Anya had stayed behind in case of Giles' return. They should have been there.

Apollyon squeezed his way through the entrance and stood in the foyer, uncertain as to whether he should proceed any further. There were strange vibrations here. It reminded him of the Watcher and he cradled one hand close to his body protectively.

Spike noticed the action and swiftly snatched hold of the scaly appendage, realizing something that they had all missed.

"Claw's gone," he announced, holding up Apollyon's damaged limb.

"Giles?" Buffy asked. It was not so much a question as a resigned statement.

"Blameworthy," the Keratos confirmed. He looked almost embarrassed at the injury and tucked the misshapen hand behind his back. "Escape must or demise fear of."

Spike snorted in disbelief. "Like Rupes would even..."

"No, Rupert wouldn't," Angel said quietly. "But Ripper is more than capable, especially if he's being controlled by some form of vampire demon."

Buffy cringed, and Spike frowned at her. 

"Ripper?" he inquired, searching their now combined memories. He managed to piece together a rough picture of the Watcher's dark demon-hunting past and his eyebrows shot up. 

"Well, well. What do you know? It's always the quiet ones, isn't it?"

"Not always," Buffy commented dryly.

"Um, hello?" Willow raised a tentative hand. "A little wigged out about the Xander-Anya missing-ness over here."

"Hey, it's freakies all round, Red," Spike assured her. "But level heads are needed now, a bit of underhanded plot-plannin'. Best that we're not all pointlessly panicky."

"Try saying that three times fast," Tara mused offhand.

Angel was regarding Spike with skepticism.

"Weren't you the guy who had a carefully laid out plan for getting the Gem of Amarra back, but abandoned it because he got bored?"

"Told you, Peaches, with all that watchin' and waitin' my leg started to cramp," Spike explained as if his decision had been perfectly logical. "That's awfully painful, you know."

"Oh sure, and being shish-kabobbed with hot pokers was a walk in the park," Angel sneered. "Not that you had the guts to do that yourself, did you my boy? Had to hire the power-hungry vamp with the kiddy fetish..."

Spike growled, moving to launch himself at his Sire. Only Angelus called him 'boy'. He'd always hated it.

Buffy intervened, pushing a restraining hand firmly against Spike's chest. 

"Lay off," she said sternly. She gave him a shove but then allowed her hand to linger, relishing the steady thud of his-her-their heartbeat under her palm.

She gave Angel a pointed sidelong glance. "That means both of you."

Angel allowed himself the tiniest of self-satisfied smiles. 

Spike was always so sensitive. He was an easy mark, quick to rile, but Buffy was right. As much as it amused him, picking at the younger vampires freshly bleached defenses was not going to get them anywhere. 

"What we need is to begin at the beginning," he said. "Any ideas where that would be exactly?"

"At the PTB, I'll wager," Spike said. He shot a malicious glare at Apollyon. "Kept that wrapped nice 'n tight under your scales, didn't you?"

The Keratos didn't answer. Instead, thin milk-white membranes formed over his luminous green eyes and he began to hum like an oversized bumblebee. 

He extended his tentacles until they fanned from his armored shoulders, translucent folds of skin unfurling between each feeler to create the illusion of graceful, scalloped wings.

"He ever done anything like this before?" Buffy whispered in Spike's head. She had to admit that Apollyon looked pretty damn creepy right now.

"Not even when he was three sheets to the wind and blind." Spike's reply was distracted as he stared at the demon in absolute fascination. He didn't even call her on the pointless whispering. "Hope this isn't leadin' to an explosion of some sort."

"Ditto." Buffy didn't take her eyes from the Keratos. She didn't do anything more than lean back against Spike, knowing that he'd support her. 

He wrapped his arms around her slight form, partially enfolding her in his duster, and rested his cheek against her hair. 

Neither one realized the bond that the intimate position implied - they were too engrossed in Apollyon's metamorphosis to even think about it.

Angel was transfixed. 

Not by the demon, but by Buffy and Spike. 

The familiarity was second nature to them, he realized. The short time that they'd been linked had been long enough for a synergy to have formed between them, a kind of harmony in their actions. It was there in the shared heartbeat and the synchronous breathing that he doubted they had even yet noticed. It was even present in the ebb and flow of their arguments.

Spike was smoldering dark to Buffy's radiant light, the night to her day. 

Hell, Angel thought as his Childe absently brushed back a strand of Buffy's hair, he was even left-handed to her right. They were two halves of a whole. He could see that now. She was lost to him forever.

"It was never meant to be."

The insightful declaration came from the Keratos demon, but it was delivered in a clear and unmistakably feminine voice.


	9. Hark The Herald

****

Chapter Nine - HARK THE HERALD

Buffy blinked at the transformed demon. 

"Okay, what gives? What's with the girly-speak?"

"Direct link." Spike disclosed, his voice purring in her ear and sending an exhilarating ripple of shivers up her spine. "He's just tapped right in." 

He seemed peculiarly entertained by the concept, a patented Spike-smirk playing across his lips. Then he actually laughed outright and the attendant Scoobies looked at him like he'd gone off his trolley.

"Oh come on! He's the bloody PTB's satellite dish," he gleefully explained to their blank faces. "How idiotic is that?"

Buffy giggled then, though it was obvious she was fighting the urge. Some part of her realized the importance of this and wanted to know how it fit in with her destiny as the Slayer. 

"Lower beings," the voice intoned, managing to sound both annoyed _and_ amused. "I am Herald, Supreme Oracle of the Powers That Be. You will heed my words."

"Yeah, hang on, love," Spike wiped a tear from his eye. "Let a fella get his sodding breath."

Herald was startled. She had never been spoken to in such an informal manner. Where was his honor, his respect? Surely this being realized the magnitude of his destiny, of his status in the Aftertime?

"You have not yet found your place," she said. 

Spike frowned. 

"My place is with the Slayer," he said matter-of-factly, his arms tightening reflexively around Buffy. "Figured that pretty much covered it." 

Buffy smiled. 

That was sweet. Uber-freaky, but sweet.

"That is true," Herald agreed. "But you are also to be a player in the Aftertime. You are to be a Guardian." She sounded puzzled. "Are you not aware of this?"

Spike snorted. "Listen, pet, right now I could be Arthur or bleedin' Martha and wouldn't give a toss, so give us a break and cut all the cryptic stuff."

Herald was silent. She was listening to something outside their perception, although no one present could quite grasp how they knew that.

"I am bid to explain," she said after a moment, her serene voice continuing to come from the Keratos demon. "But only what is necessary for your imminent challenge. The remainder is not yet for your knowledge. I was misinformed about this, I am ... sorry."

"Some Supreme Oracle," Buffy scoffed. "Gets her wires all crossed and spills the wrong info. Now we'll spend ages worrying about what the Aftertime is."

"But hey, I'm gonna be a Guardian," Spike boasted. "That's gotta be good, right? Won't be roastin' on some griddle in the fiery pits, at least." He scowled suddenly. "Does this mean I'm one of the white-hats now?"

Buffy tipped her head back to peer at him. "You've got the hair for it."

Spike leered at her and then melodramatically buried his face in the exposed curve of her neck, snarling savagely. He even went so far as to nip her skin with his blunt human teeth. 

Buffy wasn't impressed and coolly stomped on the toe of his boot. 

They both groaned at the same time.

Willow stepped forward, keeping one of her hands locked with Tara's for moral support. She seemed somewhat scandalized by Buffy and Spike's behavior. 

"I - Um, look, Oracle Lady? I'm just a little confused about what's actually happening here. Are you saying that Buffy's supposed to..." she gestured vaguely. "..._Be_ with Spike."

"It is ordained," Herald said. "He is her counterpoint, her balance. They are the convergence of light and dark in this world, the fusion of good and evil."

"Yeah, me 'n the Slayer, we're the picture of co-existence," Spike said sarcastically. "All sweetness and light. We're a bloody Rockwell painting we are."

"Spike, shut up," Buffy elbowed him in the stomach. "This is important."

Spike rolled his eyes in a see-what-I-mean sort of way. 

"See what I mean," he said.

Herald fell silent once more. It was a disapproving silence.

"Now you've upset her," Buffy complained.

"Did not."

"Did too. It is so your fault. You're being all grumbly and annoying."

"Annoying?" Spike scowled. "What happened to 'sweet'?"

"I'm going to forget I thought it," Buffy snapped. 

"Yeah ... well ... me too." He was so irritated he couldn't think straight enough to respond properly. 

The argument was escalating and they separated, facing off.

"That's a real smooth comeback, Fang-breath," she taunted. She shook her head in disbelief. "And the PTB have ordained our togethery-ness? What the hell are they thinking?"

"Hey, you're the one doin' the protesting on that score. Wasn't me bein' all _'there is no us'_ and _'I don't love you' _and _'get off me you disgusting pig'_."

"I never said that once!"

"Oh right." Spike's eyes widened incredulously. 

"Well, I didn't!" Buffy asserted, then amended the statement. "Not recently. Not out loud at least." She pointed an accusing finger at him. "Anyway, you're the one that's trying to fob off the thing about us connecting before the Serpiente even happened. You great big ... avoidy coward."

"Coward?" Spike puffed out his chest. "Me? You're one to talk. Should change your stupid name to Cleopatra, you should. Bloody Queen of Denial."

"That was lame." Buffy scoffed. "You're so pathetic."

Angel looked back and forth between the two, noting how alike they were in both temperament and strength. This could get interesting.

"I'll take twenty on Buffy," he said to Willow. 

She stared at him like he'd suddenly turned into Angelus. "Are you insane?" she hissed. "They're gonna kill each other and wreck the whole meant-to-be thing."

"They won't kill each other," he said confidently. "They've both had plenty of chances before and never acted on them. This is all for show."

"The Warrior, Angel, is indeed correct." Herald had apparently realized that outraged silence wasn't going to get her anywhere. "It is merely a manifestation of their passion."

"Oh," Willow peered at the couple. The dispute had descended into wordlessness and they'd resorted to fiery glares and contemptuous scowls. The tension in the air was palpable. "Passion," she repeated slowly. Then, "Ew, too much information. I just had this horrible visual."

"Yeah," Angel looked pained. "I didn't need to know that. I mean, I knew that's what it was but you didn't have to spell it..." He glanced up eagerly, having latched on to something. "Hey, did you say that I was a Warrior? Is that an Aftertime thing?"

Willow blinked at the sudden change of subject and turned her attention back to Herald-Apollyon. The demon's funny eyelid-thingies were starting to flutter. "Um, guys? I think you're about to lose your PTB connection."

Buffy and Spike were nose to nose at this point. At the observation they whirled to look at Willow. 

The red-haired witch took a step back, hearing Tara's soft gasp behind her. This was a mega-yikey situation, even more than the morphing demon had been. 

Their eyes were glowing. 

Not a creepy, all-out alien sort of glow, but a subtle electric glow. Like static, or fireworks - the exploding sky-rockety Fourth of July kind. 

Constant warmth radiated from behind Spike's irises, the cool blue heated with power. Curiously, his aura was composed. Buffy, on the other hand, was all vibrant energy - her eyes imbued with flashes of sparkling emerald green. 

The bright colors seemed to alternate, the irises of Vampire and Slayer generating iridescent tones of both shades - then they kind of ... _combined_ in a swirling aquamarine crescendo and disappeared. It was incredibly beautiful.

"The link is complete." Herald spoke in hushed tones, as if even she were awed. "They are one."

"And while arguing too," Angel observed, his lips curving in a melancholy smile. "It's kind of poetic." 

He was a little surprised at his sudden lack of antipathy. When did he become one of the unopposed?

"That was excellent!" Willow blurted, channeling the absent Xander. 

Tara peered at her, a bit daunted by the unusual outburst.

"What happened?" Buffy and Spike spoke simultaneously.

They looked at each other in surprise and tried a second time.

"It was..." Again with the sameness. 

"That isn't..." Ditto.

"Wow," Willow breathed. "They're like, almost the same person."

"Don't think so, Red," Spike disagreed. 

It took a shift in consciousness that could easily become second nature, but his basic personality remained separate - the rest had merged seamlessly with the Slayer. In reality, it was not much different than the active link, and was actually a step back from the level of closeness they'd already reached. The main distinction was the latent knowledge that _this_ was a permanent, indestructible bond. This was for life.

Or unlife, as the case may be. He still wasn't all that clear on where he stood in the mortality scheme of things. The by-product heartbeat was still thumping away at Buffy's pulse rate and the need to breathe was still pressing. If it weren't for his dust-inducing sensitivity to the light of day, he'd say that he was almost the male equivalent of a Slayer.

"You will no longer be susceptible to the sun," Herald informed him, reading his thoughts. "You have risen a step above and are now past certain pitfalls of your earthly existence."

Spike stared, rendered speechless by the announcement.

"What?" Buffy croaked, struggling to accept the full significance of what was happening. This fresh tidbit of news was a bit much coming on top of an introduction to the heart of Spike's essence.

And 'heart' was definitely the operative word. There was no doubting it now - he was truly, madly, deeply in love with her. And he was right about something else too. William was still in him. He'd been shunted back into some secluded corner of Spike's psyche, but he was there, a teeny-tiny remnant of pure shiny goodness in the dark.

Angel was deliberately ignoring this latest development and gnawed at the inside of his cheek, staring at the Oracle. 

"Are you gonna do the big reveal or not?" he asked bluntly. "'Cause there's still the small matter of a missing Watcher."

"And a missing ex-demon," Willow went on. "And a missing ... guy." She frowned at that last, feeling that Xander somehow deserved a better rap. He was more to them than just a guy.

"N-not to mention the deranged vampire with the boosted vision-giving gift," Tara put in.

"Hey," Spike complained, having finally found his voice. "Hold up. Thinkin' that maybe this ... 'us'-ness is a tad more important."

Buffy was finding that his tendency toward selfishness wasn't quite as aggravating to her now. She could see where it was coming from. And though insecurity wasn't something she'd previously associated with him, it explained a lot. 

"Or maybe not," she retorted. "Seems to me that part was _supposed_ to happen." Ignoring the mockery inherent in Spike's raised brow, she continued on. "The PTB set us up. All the other wiggy stuff going down is a defecty side-effect that they didn't count on."

Spike grimaced. "Bloody stupid, stinkin', hellmouthy Hellmouth."

He sighed and canted his head to one side, his lips twisting thoughtfully. "It's gonna be light soon," he commented seemingly offhand, casting a furtive glance at the shop's front window. "Wanna try for a quick stroll 'round the neighborhood?"

"There won't be any more big scaredy runaways on my watch," Buffy told him. She raised her eyebrows. "The name Drusilla ring a bell? Or Giles? We need to focus here." She eyed the Oracle-occupied Keratos demon intently. "Okay, you, Heraldy Girl, make with the bean spillage."

"As you have already ascertained, the presence of the Hellmouth was, as you say, a spanner in our workings?" Herald's voice contained a smile. "What has transpired has resulted in the release of the vampire demon. It is operating as a separate entity outside of its vessel."

"Are you sayin' that my demon ain't in here with me?" Spike scowled. "That can't be right. I'm still with the liquid diet."

"Yes, that ... quirk will remain with you. However, when was the last time you underwent transmogrification?"

"Huh?" Buffy wished that these Oracle things came with a built-in big-word translator.

"She means when did I last go game-face," Spike simplified. He folded his arms and considered the question. He was silent for a full minute. "And, believe it or not kiddies, I can't recall. The only one goin' all fangy and 'Grr' recently was Giles."

Buffy carefully thought back over the short time that he'd been back in Sunnydale. She couldn't remember either. Even before he'd left for his Mexican jaunt, his game-faciness had been a rare occurrence. 

"You don't even get bumpy when you're feeding anymore, do you?" Buffy gazed at Spike, her face displaying a kind of wonderment. She became aware of the dreamy expression, frowned, and adopted a more casual demeanor. "I mean, not that you'd need to, drinking from a mug and all." She tipped her head at Herald. "Is that chip-related?" 

"The Initiative were allowed to operate here on our indulgence," Herald told them. "Because the implantation of the chip itself was necessary. William was not going to have sufficient control without our intervention. He needed guidance. His waiting period had drawn out long enough and you had already been called."

"Hang on," Angel held up a hand. "You said William. You don't mean his soul? Not that William?"

"Which other?" Spike jeered. "You and Dru did something wrong, you know. He's been in here since I was turned. Bugger never left."

"He wasn't meant to," Buffy stated with sudden insight. She didn't even glance at the vampires, keeping her eyes on the demon. "He was supposed to stay behind. Spike was turned wrong on purpose."

Angel frowned at that. "But I don't remember anything going that drastically wrong. Other than you putting up one hell of a fight when we..." he trailed off, his complexion becoming suddenly even more pale.

"When we what?" Spike demanded. "What the hell did you do?"

"You'd have to go into the vagaries of vampirism," Angel murmured. "It can't be that common an occurrence... I mean, I'm sure the Old Ones would have records of something similar." He didn't seem to be addressing anybody specifically, the hushed commentary making sense only to him. "Maybe Giles would be able to explain the details better, but if I'm remembering it correctly..." 

"I do remember _some _of it," Spike inserted. "It's not exactly the clearest of memories, but still ... special, you know." He drifted into reflection, a wistful smile crossing his face. "Dru was so different. She came to me spoutin' all manner of fancy things. Swimming fish and glory and walking in unimaginable worlds..." He blinked, coming out of his reverie to a gaggle of vacant faces. 

He blushed. "Right. So, you figure she could see the future goings-on then?"

Angel sighed, disregarding the question in favor of recounting his story. 

"Dru had been wanting to make herself a playmate, and she had her heart set on Spike from the moment she laid eyes on him." He shrugged. "There's no accounting for taste, I suppose, but she is insane."

"You can insult me later, you poncey git," Spike broke in. "Just get on with tellin' the tale."

Angel gave him a formidable glare but continued on.

"Dru had no business trying to turn anyone. She was still a fledgling really, only twenty at the time. Darla and I shouldn't have allowed it." 

He shook his head. The enormity of his own past arrogance never ceased to amaze him.

"There's a period that comes in the draining when you know the soul has left the body. It's a change in the taste, like a plateau, or the eye of a storm..." He faltered, wincing at the inanity of his description. "Kind of a difficult thing to put into words. The Time of Sanguinary Blessing, the Old Ones call it. That's when the intended is supposed to drink from you. I'd assumed that Dru had already reached that point when she first attempted the feeding, but looking back, I can see that William hadn't completely left." He glanced at Spike. "That's why you woke up in the middle of it and scared the daylights out of her."

"Now, personally, I would have taken that as a big, flashy neon sign that something was wrong," Buffy stated blandly. "Of course, that would be dumping a load of sane into the mix..."

"Dru called for me to come and help," Angel said, ignoring her. He had become distant, lost in his recollection. "You were fighting her off when I arrived so I..." He lowered his eyes guiltily. "I held you down while she tried again."

"Bastard," Spike muttered, a muscle twitching in his jaw. He made no further comment, not trusting himself to stay calm enough to hear the rest if he did. He almost didn't register the Slayer taking a supportive hold of his hand.

"It happens sometimes, the fighting, but not usually as ... enthusiastically."

"Tried?" Buffy prompted. "What, the second time didn't work either?"

"No."

"Well, how many times did she bloody well try?" Spike was horrified at the turn the story was taking.

"Three times," Angel said. "Or was it four? None of them were successful. As I said, it was probably because William was still present. We didn't realize that then," he asserted. "_I_ didn't realize or I wouldn't have..."

"And this is the part where you stepped up to be the Daddy, right?" Spike drawled flatly. "Oh joy of joys. Lucky me." He was so tense he was surprised his tendons weren't snapping.

Buffy pulled him into a comforting embrace then, abandoning the cursory hold on his hand to mash her face against his chest and bury her arms inside his duster to enfold his taut body. 

He stood stiffly, not taking his eyes from his Sire. He didn't want to be comforted - he wanted to smash something. And Angel's face was looking like a good place to start.

"I'm sorry, Spike, we didn't know," Angel persisted. He could no longer meet his Childe's eyes. He realized that there was no way he could make up for this. 

"Drusilla was well aware of her role," Herald told them, breaking into the strained atmosphere with her calm tones. "She was the sole demon who was able to heed our call, the harbinger of William's salvation."

"You mean, she was the only one mad enough to cock it up," Spike growled.

"Her ... instability has been used to our advantage, yes." Herald didn't seem have a problem with that. "She was someone for you to care for, an outlet for your devotion. Without her, you would never have been able to love the Slayer as you needed to."

"So, this is Dru's fault then?" Spike's skin was flushed with his anger. It was an uncomfortable, prickly heat and he hated it. It was way too hard to look cool when you were sweating bullets. "Convenient for you, is it? Makin' her the scapegoat?"

Buffy smothered an inappropriate smile against the front of Spike's T-shirt. She'd picked up the stray thought about looking cool, and it was so out of place amid the drama, it was funny. And he really was developing quite the shiny surface. Made him look kinda ... lickable.

Ew, gross! Likable Spike! Spike lickage! That was just too... Actually, it sounded downright intriguing. Her mind should do the wandering thing more often. It arrived in the most interesting places.

Spike peered down at the top of Buffy's head. She hadn't let up on the hugging and he could still feel the comfort thing going on, but her thoughts had suddenly veered off on a fascinating tangent. It was distracting him. 

He smirked. Lickage, huh? The girl's mind worked in the oddest way. He closed his arms around her, resting his hands against the small of her back.

Willow scowled at the Buffy and Spike huddle. Something wiggy was going on under the surface there. Her scowl deepened as Buffy tilted her head back to bat her lashes at Spike in mock innocence, her lips curved in a subtle, almost seductive smile. The vampire's tongue curled behind his teeth and he raised his eyebrows at her in a really suggestive way. She responded with a tinkling laugh and burrowed closer against his chest. It was weird and sort of indecent, but somehow not so large with the surprisiness.

"They are meant to be together, aren't they?" Willow wasn't expecting an answer. She was stating a fact. A completely _fait accompli_-ish fact.

"All that has taken place in their pasts has lead to this moment," Herald sounded almost reverent. "They are united as equals. Equal in love, in hate. In strength and weakness, in all things. No other shall rend them apart, it is an eternal bond meant to endure long beyond their passing."

"Wow. So they're actually like, married? In a spiritual sense, I mean," Willow was captivated now. Maybe the link wasn't so ooky after all. Married was good. Married was ... safe. She could think of them as married. If she didn't let herself think too hard, that is. "That's cool. I'm down with that."

"Me too," Tara put in. "Way down." 

She had been feeling a little left out of the proceedings. Most of the people being mentioned were unknown to her, but Buffy and Spike? She knew them. And she knew how perfect they were for each other. She had understood where they were headed from the moment she first saw them together. Karmic destiny was great that way. She'd felt the same pull when she first met Willow.

Angel had moved away from the living sculpture that was the transmuted Keratos and was sitting at the study table, toying with vision inventory that he'd written earlier. It was probably obsolete now. "So, what about Giles?" he asked.

Buffy's head snapped up from its cozy resting-place against Spike's chest. 

Oh God, Giles! He'd completely slipped her mind. Bad Buffy, bad, bad, bad...

Herald seemed to sigh. "This is more difficult to explain. What developed when the Watcher made contact with William was..."

"'Spike', love," Spike interrupted. "Call me Spike. I don't hold with usin' that simpleton's name. Haven't gone by it for a good while, and I don't bloody plan to start up again now."

"But you're listed in the Watcher's Diaries as William the Bloody," Buffy noted, her attention momentarily diverted from the Giles problem by Spike's unusual request. She wasn't going to forget her Watcher again, but, "Hey, did they call you that because it's like, every second word that comes out of your mouth?"

"I hate that sodding name," Spike grimaced. "Doesn't exactly come from a happy period in my life, you know."

"You mean 'unlife'." Buffy corrected.

"I meant what I said, pet. That unfortunate moniker hails from my delightful pre-vamp days."

Buffy's eyes widened and he could sense her diving in for a quick look-see at their combined memory banks. 

Tara blinked at him. She hadn't heard anyone call him anything other than Spike. "Were ... Were you a serial killer or something?"

Spike laughed at how very wrong that was. Laughed until tears came to his eyes.

Tara looked mortified. "I'm s-sorry. I didn't mean to..."

"Oh love, you gave the ol' funny bone a proper ticklin' there. Serial killer," he snorted. "God, how I wish..." 

He suddenly realized that Buffy was staring at him like he'd sprouted another head - a particularly ugly one ... with horns. Or, judging by the look in her eyes, maybe a halo. She'd discovered his deep dark secret then. Thankfully, she wasn't mentioning it to the others. Not for the moment, anyway. 

"You realize that we will be into some serious former-life conversage later," she informed him via the link. "'Cause I want in on the embarrassing details."

"Now, that's a date." He grinned at her, twirling a silken lock of her hair around his fingers.

Buffy sighed and snuggled back against his chest. The guy could do double-duty as a pillow he was so comfortable. She smiled. A big softie that's what he was. A big, romantic, poetry-writing softie.

"Okay, can we get back to Giles now?" Angel was getting impatient, and he had the feeling that Herald wouldn't be able to keep the connection open for much longer.

"Yes, as I was saying," Herald sounded relieved to be continuing her explanation, "When, ah, Spike initiated contact with the Watcher, his demon must have sensed an opportunity for freedom. As a result of the chip, the demon has been repressed, and in the Watcher, it has found at least a small outlet for its bloodlust."

"So Giles was like a psychic escape hatch?" Willow frowned. "That is just plain wrong. Evil and wrong and a bunch of other bad words that I can't think of right now." She pondered that for a moment. "Which, I guess, is the whole point..."

"Jeez, poor Giles," Buffy lamented, her voice muffled against Spike's shirt. 

He gave her a gentle squeeze that she returned in kind. He was pretty touchy-feely for a vampire. She couldn't seem bring herself to let him go and she was beginning to find that somewhere close to frightening.

Spike sensed the tiny panic attack and reluctantly drew back. He placed a brief kiss on her forehead and turned her around to face Herald, managing to keep one arm curved over her shoulder from behind.

"Listen to the fairy-story then, pet," he murmured in her ear. "We've got all the time in the world for the other." 

Buffy smiled. She could feel it spreading into a big, sappy lovesick grin but she didn't care... 

Oh my God, lovesick? Sick with love? Since when?

Since always, you doof. That peppy little voice-of-reason popped up when she least expected it, but it always spoke the truth. She loved Spike. Okay, no big. She loved Xander too - a nice platonicky kinda love. 

Right, so was she _in_ love with Spike? 

She was. She really was. How in the hell had that happened?

Her mind seemed to freeze, trying to process the bombshell. Her heart went into a frenzied squeeze-and-release routine that was almost painful.

When had she gone from hating his guts, and most of the rest of him, to not wanting to be apart from him ever again? This was going down too damn fast for her taste. It smacked of some kind of interference, like some kinda of love mojo had been sprung on her. It was Willow's 'will-be-done' spell all over again.

Spike understood every last bit of what was going on in her beautiful head, could feel it in the churning of his gut and the tightening of his chest. It was one doozy of an internal battle and she was reeling from it.

Buffy was in love with him. 

Him, Spike, the guy who had not so long ago headed the list of people that she would most like to see dead. She'd finally admitted it to herself. He felt like breaking into song or screaming around the room in full-fledged hysterical joy. Of course, he couldn't allow himself to do that. Not yet, not until she was coping with the admission. And judging by the stunned expression on her face, that was gonna take a while.

She wrenched away from him, trying to put as much space between them as possible, and sat at the study table next to Angel. The older vampire watched her with concern in his dark eyes, knowing that something was up, but not sure if he really wanted to ask for the details.

Spike folded his arms, resisting the urge to follow her, his chiseled face betraying nothing of his own inner turmoil. He was happy and frustrated and a handful of other things all at once, he wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. William, the sentimental prat, had taken over and he wasn't letting the opportunity go to waste.

Herald's voice broke into the awkward atmosphere, but it was not the smooth tone that they had become accustomed to hearing. She was either breathless, or her fragile connection to this dimension was breaking up. As if in confirmation of the idea, Apollyon's eyelids fluttered and he swayed a little, his tentacle-wings rippling.

"My time draws short," she said. "All that remains is for you to rid the Watcher of his demonic possession. The text you need will be made available to you."

At her words, a thick book miraculously appeared in mid-air and thudded to the ground at Willow's feet. 

"Like an exorcism?" The witch was surprised. She sat down on the floor to open the book, but it flipped to the correct page of its own volition. She peered curiously at the spell it revealed. "I'd never thought of vamps as being possessed before, but that's kinda true, huh?"

"He won't get all vomity and Linda Blair on us will he?" Buffy pulled a face. She'd always hated that movie. Buffy and vomit were unmixy things.

Spike gave her one of his genuine grins. There was that oddball humor of hers again. It was one of the things he loved about her, her ability to laugh in the face of extremely intense situations.

She threw him a look of furious dislike. She didn't want any love vibes coming from him right now. No love for Buffy, and definitely no love for Spike.

He quirked the scarred eyebrow at her, his grin evaporating. 

She was fighting this too hard. 

It was losing battle, couldn't she see that? The feelings were there. The fact that she was even angry with him revealed the magnitude of those feelings. She'd admitted it, and she _knew_ that he knew that. There was no denying it - not now, not ever. 

Confessions of the heart were never pretty, especially the deep dark secrety ones, and he understood the painful repercussions of that kind of exposure only too well. He'd gone through the same thing himself, had struggled with his own feelings for months, years. But this? This was out and out rejection.

"What about Dru?" he asked Herald, not breaking eye contact with Buffy. The Slayer's quiet, determined avoidance was starting to piss him off. 

"Yeah, about that," Angel put in. "How has she been sending these visions if not with your consent?"

"Our consent was granted," Herald informed them. "Though your Seer's vision is true, we enabled a heightening of Drusilla's power in order to draw you here, manifested illusions that all that came to pass was of her own making. You needed to be present, to bear witness to the Slayer's union with your Childe. It is an event that will have consequences in your own life and, indeed, in the lives of those close to you." She sounded very pleased with herself. "It is for the greater good. Everything we do is to that end."

Spike snorted. "Oh yeah, you higher-ups are great at the altruism. Not to heavy with the personal sacrifices though."

"Explain," Herald's manner was annoyed now. She was not used to her motives being questioned.

"You expect us lower beings to do what you want, when and how you want it, right? But you don't do a hell of a lot in repayment. So little Spikey's got a soul? I'm so bloody honored that you care."

"It can easily be revoked," Herald's voice was beginning to cut in and out. Apollyon's eyes opened a fraction.

"Seeing as it was such a chore to keep it here in the first place, I don't see how that's gonna happen, love." 

Spike knew he was pushing it, messing with the PTB, he just hadn't aggravated anyone for a while - he needed the rush. Plus, the pain from Buffy's rejection was looking for a way out and he didn't think she'd appreciate him belting the crap out of his Sire, which is what he really wanted to do.

Buffy was glaring at him. He could feel her eyes boring into his back, her displeasure into his head.

"Quit it, you moron," she scolded via their link. "She'll fry you or something."

"Then I'll fry." At that moment Spike didn't particularly care. "Don't feel that I'm cut out for this Guardian thing, anyhow. And it's not like anything's gonna come of this link business. Not while you're being Denial Girl."

"I am _not_ in denial!" Buffy snapped aloud.

"Denyin' that you're in denial," Spike observed dryly. "Now that's rich."

Buffy's gaze grew dangerously narrow, and both of them experienced a slight twinge as the chip threatened to activate. 

"I hate you," she asserted. "I mean, I really, really, _really_ hate you."

"Okay, you hate me," Spike conceded. "I get it, Slayer, alright? You've made your point." He sighed, seeming to sag as the fight went out of him. "You win. I'm done tryin' to convince you otherwise. It's the worst kind of torture ever. Even Peaches couldn't do better."

Angel frowned then. "I resent that. Some of my best..." He stopped, suddenly realizing what he was saying, and smiled ruefully. "Sorry, I didn't mean that."

"Right." Spike huffed. "I haven't got the scars to prove it either."

The Keratos demon chose that moment to come out of his transformation, lapsing back into his Apollyon persona with a loud whistle-grunt. His double tongues flicked in and out rapidly.

Willow glanced up at him from the spell book. "Oh, you're back."

"All will better be," the demon warbled happily. "Powers restore balance."

"Balance?" Spike spat skeptically. "You know where you can shove your sodding balance, mate." He stalked away to set himself atop the counter.

Apollyon's tentacles curled defensively. "Messenger I am only," he returned. "Do not be shooting me."

Spike's only response was a testy snarl followed by the mechanical flick of his lighter as he ignited a cigarette.

"So, we have the basis of a plan right?" Angel asked, taking on Giles' usual role of Commander-In-Chief. "We have the exorcism spell. And if Willow says it's do-able, I'd say a rescue mission's in order." He raised his eyebrows. "All those in favor?"

Willow absently thrust her hand in the air, still avidly reading from the book. Tara smiled shyly and did the same. Spike refused to look at them, blowing a cloud of smoke in the opposite direction.

Buffy cast a grateful smile at Angel as she raised her own hand. 

He was right. Her Slayery-ness was needed now. It was time to focus on the important stuff - Giles, Xander and Anya and the current crisis. She would deal with the whole Spike-related craziness later. 

Much later.


	10. You Know, The Usual

****

Chapter Ten - YOU KNOW, THE USUAL

Rupert Giles was trapped in his own body with no way out. The demon had taken full control not long after he'd extracted the information about the Powers That Be from the unwilling Keratos, and his soul had been driven back into the recesses of his being.

Drusilla was convinced that she alone had masterminded the Serpiente. The subsequent linking of Buffy and Spike had distressed her for a while, but she had since deluded herself into thinking that the only way she could be with Spike was through his demon. Consequently, she had taken Giles under her wing.

Now she intended for Anya and Xander to be his first victims.

The couple had been easy pickings, trusting him to guide them to safety from the demented vampiress. They never suspected that he was working with her - that she still held Spike's demon in her thrall and he was helpless to do anything other than her bidding.

How had Spike coped all those years? A century of being at her beck and call 24-7 and never a moment's peace? Giles had always thought of himself as a patient man, but putting up with Drusilla was excruciating. His respect for the neutered vampire had increase tenfold since his possession. Spike had to be the most tolerant, considerate person on the planet. He'd had to reassess his whole opinion and that annoyed him.

He was a Watcher, he was not supposed to have respect for vampires. Perhaps an exception would have to be made for those who were ordained by the PTB. 

That particular piece of news was responsible for his present predicament. The very idea that his Slayer, his Buffy, whom he thought of as a daughter, was to be forever joined to a creature of the undead persuasion had pushed him over the edge, allowing the demon full access to his anger. 

And it still rankled. Even after he'd accepted that nothing he did could alter what the Powers had decreed, even after he had given up all hope of getting his life back.

He growled, earning a giggle from Drusilla. She sat on an ornate rug in front of the fireplace, hosting a tea party for several porcelain dolls, all of which were severely lacking in the eye department.

"Be patient, my lamb," she said, raising her arms as though warming them by the fire. She seemed oblivious to the fact that it was unlit. "Daddy's coming home and then we shall feast by the silvery moon. A splendid family picnic."

Giles rolled his eyes. Bloody imbecilic woman. Daddy wouldn't be coming, he was certain, but Buffy would, and she'd kill them both.

~*[+]*~

Buffy hoisted the bag of weapons onto her shoulder, slammed shut the lid of the chest and gave the living room a final once over. 

That was everything, right? Stakes, crossbow, a couple of bottles of holy water, her favorite battle-axe... Yep, everything. No problem there.

The real problem was that she felt like she was leaving half of herself behind. It was the weirdest, creepiest feeling she'd ever experienced. 

Well, okay, that was an exaggeration. She'd drowned once. That had been pretty creepy. Drowning hadn't felt all shadowy and hovery-dark-cloudish like this though. This was like one of her portentous Slayer dreams. Only not - 'cause she was awake.

Spike was waiting for her on the porch, a slight smile lifting the corners of his mouth. He held a sword in his left hand, and swung it in expert arcs, enjoying the feel of the blade as it slashed through the air.

Buffy stood in the doorway for a moment and just watched him. 

It was daylight now, and she could sense his pleasure as he reveled in the sun's rays for the first time in one hundred and twenty years. She was glad that their little expedition home had lightened his mood. 

Actually 'lightened' was an understatement. He'd been like a big kid on his first trip to the circus or something - dashing in and out of the sunshine and grinning from ear to ear. He'd also relished rubbing his newfound perk in Angel's face, asking his Sire if he had any sunblock on him, and then dissolving into a fit of giggles.

She smiled as she took in the way that his hair shone almost as blindingly bright as the sun itself. She'd never noticed how white the peroxide job really was. Either he was gonna have to dye it back to its original shade or she would have to start wearing sunglasses on a daily basis. 

"Hey," he said, not turning to look at her, but keeping his eyes focused on the sword. He ran through a series of graceful sweeping moves, the blade almost an extension of his arm.

"Hey yourself."

"You accepted it yet?"

"Accepted what?" Buffy figured she could keep the whole love issue to one side while they concentrated on the rescue mission. Apparently Spike had other ideas.

He lowered the sword and rested his hands on its hilt, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. She caught a wave of frustration from him.

"I know, I know," she consoled him. "Have I accepted being in love with you?"

Spike turned to look at her then, his hopeful eyes a pure crystalline blue, his lean features pale but radiant. The day really looked good on him.

Buffy sighed. She so had to stop noticing things like that. It screwed up her concentration. "It's all too sudden for me," she told him. "I'm not comfortable with the concept."

"Concept my ass," he retorted. "Being in love is not a bloody concept. It's either a fact or it isn't. You are or you aren't."

Buffy had the sudden urge to run a thousand miles in the opposite direction. If she did this now, there was no turning back...

"Then I guess I am."

Silence. Their shared heartbeat seemed to skid to a halt as they both paused to register the declaration. Then she was squealing in surprise as he shot forward and captured her around the waist, her bag of weaponry thudding onto the porch. There was a muffled clang as he dropped the sword and tightened his arms until she felt breathless. He spun in a circle, Buffy clinging on for dear life.

"Oh love, you're not gonna regret this," he told her, burying his face in her hair. He was shaking.

"Think I probably will," she gasped, pushing ineffectually at his shoulders. "Get off me, you ... vampire. I need to breathe right now." 

When he didn't respond she tried tweaking his chip.

"Ow!" He backed up, his hand gingerly probing his temple, a little hurt by the unexpected reprimand. "Thought you weren't going to do that anymore."

"I never said that," she grinned at him, feeling giddy, his euphoria like a drug in her system. "You did all the protesting, buddy." 

It was like a huge weight had been lifted, Buffy felt like she could float.

Spike's face changed as he read the thought. It was an odd expression, like she'd just said something he wasn't entirely happy about.

"What?" she demanded.

"Floating," Spike said thoughtfully. "Dru said that the Slayer floated."

"That's nice." Buffy was confused again. "How exactly is that significant?"

"Don't know that it is. It's just interestin' is all."

"Well, keep the interesting to yourself if it's not relevant."

He growled at her, but it was a good-natured sort of growl. He was so bloody happy, she could stake him right now and he would give a rat's ass.

"Is it wrong?" she asked bluntly. "That we're this happy and Giles is probably miserable and hurting?"

"Not wrong," Spike assured her. "Never wrong. It's just not timely."

"Timely?" Buffy frowned. "Is that even a word?"

"Don't press your luck, Summers."

Buffy slapped him smartly on the backside as he bent to retrieve his sword. He straightened and turned threateningly, pointing the blade at her throat. 

"You didn't say it," he accused suddenly. He began moving toward her, slowly backing her up against the wall. "You admitted it in here," he directed the sword at her head, then to her chest. "And here, but you haven't put it out in the open."

Buffy licked her lips nervously. She could tell that he was fooling with her, but part of her couldn't help but want to fight him. Plus, the whole sword thing was pretty damn hot.

"Make me," she challenged, then blinked as the sword rammed into the wood beside her head, too close for comfort.

"Make me make you," Spike purred, lowering his head to her ear and nibbling it lightly with his teeth.

Buffy shivered, letting out a small gasp when he ran his tongue along the sensitive skin. She was so not prepared for this. Hasty retreat was the order of the day.

She quickly ducked under his arm and marched toward the steps, moving down them to stand on the front path. She folded her arms. "I, um, yeah."

Well, at least she was being articulate.

Spike shook his head, smiling. He'd finally worked out how to best the Slayer, and the discovery had come only after he no longer wanted her dead. 

He extricated the sword from its makeshift scabbard and tucked it into her discarded weapon bag. After lifting it to his shoulder and pulling the front door closed, he joined her in the street.

"Buffy, look at me," he ordered, bringing his free hand up to cup her face. She met his gaze steadily, resenting that she had to obey even that small command. 

"I love you," he assured her, his voice softly sincere. "It's scary and strange and I've had plenty of time to get used to it. You haven't. Gimme a good thump when I'm gettin' too pushy, yeah? Kick me where it hurts. You wouldn't think twice 'bout it normally and this whole shrinkin' violet routine isn't like you."

Now Buffy felt shy, embarrassed even. It was so annoying.

"You'd better believe it, Blood-breath," she informed him caustically. "I'll slay you where you stand."

"There's my girl." Spike gave her a satisfied smirk and took her hand in his as they headed off down the street. 

They had a plan to put into action.

~*[+]*~

Angel shifted his position on the rear seat of Spike's DeSoto, certain that a shaft of sunlight was somehow boring into his back despite the blackened windows. Either that or Spike had neglected to tell him about a hidden cache of stakes.

"Whose idea was this again?" he inquired.

"Yours." Willow's answer was clipped. She was trying to concentrate. "Surprise attack, remember?"

"Remind me to never do this again, okay? I feel like a barbecued pincushion or something."

"Done," Tara chimed in, mixing some sort of concoction in a mortar and pestle. The smell was horrendous.

Of course, the car hadn't smelled too good to begin with.

"Got any lavender in there?" Angel asked. "Maybe some rose oil?"

"Are we supposed to?" Willow sounded stricken. "I don't ... Was that in the book?" She missed the book. It had disappeared the very second she had the spell memorized.

"No. It's just a bit fragrant back here." 

Angel fidgeted again - pulling Spike's battered woolen blanket firmly over his shoulders. He squinted down into the void behind the driver's seat. Was that bourbon bottle empty or not?

"I don't think he's up there with the world's best housekeepers, you know?" Willow grinned. "Hope Buffy knows that she'll be picking up after him for the rest of her life."

Angel sighed and Tara seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. She could be quite unnerving that one.

"It's hard, huh?" she said. "You've accepted it in your head, but somehow that doesn't make it any easier."

The vampire scowled at her. "Are you channeling the PTB as well?"

"N-no, I just..."

"She's Miss Perceptive," Willow said, pouring what smelled like cod liver oil into the mix. "Whew! That's disgusting." She glanced up at Tara. "Not you, honey, the potion."

"I know." Tara gave her a lop-sided grin and Angel was startled. She was really quite beautiful. Willow had great taste in women.

He was startled even further when Tara peered over the seat at him and said a quiet, "Thank you."

"Yeah, that's okay." 

Man, was it getting uncomfortable in here or was it just him?

Willow and Tara exchanged knowing looks. 

"It's just you," they said in unison.

~*[+]*~

Xander had passed panic about three city blocks back, and was barreling full throttle toward hysteria. 

Anya on the other hand, was as cool as a cucumber. She'd spent a good half-hour trying to come to grips with the origins of that particular catchphrase and still hadn't been able to figure it out. 

Were cucumbers naturally cool, or had the phrase been invented only after the introduction of refrigeration? There was a vegetable dimension, she'd explained to Xander, but the cucumbers there weren't very cool. In fact, they were quite bloodthirsty. Not unlike vampires really.

That comparison had sent Xander into a swoon. Anya felt like kicking him. He was the man. He was supposed to be the brave one, the strong one. That's how it was in all the movies she'd seen.

Giles was acting more like a man than Xander. It was most worrisome.

"Where's Buffy?" Xander whispered, not for the first time.

"Probably having sex with Spike," Anya snapped. She wished she were having sex right now. Not with Xander though, she was much too annoyed with him. She wondered if Buffy would mind her borrowing Spike for a while...

"I did so not need that visual, Ahn," Xander admonished. 

He sighed, shifting slightly. They were tied back to back with a stone pillar between them and he could no longer feel his hands. He needed his hands. He liked his hands. They were good hands to have.

"I can't feel my hands," he complained. He spotted Giles in his peripheral vision. "Yo! G-man! I can't feel my hands. Any chance of you loosening the ropes here?"

"Oh yes, certainly," Giles agreed. He made no move toward the couple. "By all means. I'll just loosen those right up."

"I take my nay-says without sarcasm," Xander drawled. "But thank you for your time."

Anya smiled. That was the smart-mouthed Xander she loved. Hope was not lost after all.

Giles began to clean his glasses with a handkerchief. Xander guessed that some habits were just too hard to break.

"Okay, you've got to wonder why the toothy twosome haven't made with the blood sucking," he commented to Anya in undertone. "'Cause, hey, a couple of real yummy treats here just waiting to be devoured."

"Maybe Dru likes her meals a bit on the ripe side," she suggested. "I mean, they used to be human, they're well aware of how essential bathroom breaks are. We've been here for hours. My bladder could very well burst."

Xander squirmed, wishing she hadn't brought the subject up. He'd just about had that urge under control.

"And just to continue with the fruity analogy," Anya went on, "With the ripeness and everything? Do you think its like she's waiting for us to fall, or is she gonna pluck us."

"_What?_"

"'Pluck', Xander. I said 'pluck'. As in from a vine."

"Oh ... Oh, good. 'Cause I was so not wanting to go there..."

"Drusilla is actually waiting for Angel," Giles told them, having overheard every syllable of their whispered conversation. "She seems to think that her 'Daddy', as she calls him, is in town and will be quite willing to join the festivities."

Xander frowned. That had sounded like the normal, non-vampy Giles - not the distant demony-thing that had so coolly assisted in their abduction.

"He's gone evil again, hasn't he?" he heard himself blurting. Damn his terrified vocal cords. "And the badness just keeps on a-comin'."

"I don't believe that Angelus has returned," Giles said smoothly. "She's under the impression that he has, though. It's extremely interesting."

He tucked his handkerchief into the pocket of his tweedy jacket and replaced his glasses. Apparently becoming part vampire had not improved his eyesight. 

"That's a major plus for our side right?" Anya hissed to Xander. "Because you said that the not-evil Angel helps the helpless. That's us."

"Yeah, that is so us."

Xander felt another surge of panic forming as Drusilla entered the room. It was the daytime, for Pete's sake, weren't vamps supposed to sleep during the day?

"Naughty boy," Dru scolded, wagging her finger at Giles. "You're not to be holding a tete-a-tete with the menu."

"Well, I am so dreadfully sorry," Giles' apology was laden with sarcasm. "I've never eaten sentient beings before, I'm not up with the proper etiquette."

Dru blinked at him. From a distance it looked coquettish, but she was a sharp as a tack behind those limpid eyes - she didn't miss a thing. "You'll not be setting them free," she said, shrewdly picking up his intentions. "Fly away little bird. Shoo!" 

She waved Giles toward the doorway, but he remained stubbornly where he was so she tried another tactic.

"Come to my parlor then, my pet," she crooned, curling her body intimately against the Watcher and trailing her slender fingers across his chest. "We could pass the day melting like snowflakes, all entwined in beautiful symmetry."

Xander's eyes almost bugged out of his head as Giles grinned - a leering smirk of a grin that was eerily similar to Spike's - and led the vampiress out of the room.

Anya sighed. Even Giles was getting sex. It wasn't fair.

~*[+]*~

Spike crept stealthily through the underbrush, the filtered sunlight casting mottled patterns on his skin. He could see his target clearly and they had not yet noticed his presence. He had the edge. Silence surrounded him like a shield, and he took advantage of the lull, springing from his leafy shelter with a hearty roar.

He landed against the DeSoto's darkened rear window, pressing his maniacally grinning face against the glass. He watched avidly as Angel bolted upright in the back seat and whacked his head against the upholstered ceiling, then he slid down the trunk to rest against the rear tire, giggling. 

His Sire was such a pillock.

Buffy followed him out of the shrubbery, moving at a more sedate pace. The bag of weapons was once again slung over her shoulder.

"That wasn't nice," she chided. Her tone wasn't the least bit reproachful, though, and a grin of her own played across her lips.

"I don't do 'nice'," Spike informed her.

"Oh yeah you do." Buffy deposited the bag next to his reclining form. "I've seen it." She rapped the top of his head with her knuckles. "You can't hide that mushy center from me anymore, Poetry Boy."

Spike scowled up at her, looking so much like a recalcitrant schoolboy that she leant down and placed a maternal kiss on his forehead.

"You're thinkin' 'sweet' thoughts again," he accused.

"Sue me."

Buffy swung open the passenger-side door and peered inside. She hastily backed out again, her nose wrinkled with distaste.

"Oh my God! Spike, did you leave something dead in there?"

"Just Angel," he quipped. "What? A bit on the nose is it?" He got to his feet and brushed off his duster. "Hey, Red, you and your lover-girl better not be makin' stink bombs in my baby."

"We didn't do it purposely," Willow said, emerging from the other side of the auto. "And you get used to it after a while."

"Except if you're me." Angel's voice came sulkily from inside the car, muffled beneath the blanket. "And how about closing the doors? The sun's getting in. I'm starting to sizzle here."

Willow slammed her door. "He's so high maintenance," she grumbled. "So glad he was never _my_ boyfriend."

Tara surfaced from the open passenger side, and glanced fretfully at her girlfriend. She held a stone mortar in her hands, its gooey contents emitting wisps of purplish-grey smoke.

Buffy grimaced at it, letting out a muttered "Ew", and then turned her attention to the Mansion. 

The Old Crawford Street Mansion - of all the places in Sunnydale, why had they chosen to hole up _here_? The memories of this place never failed to freak her out.

Spike embraced her from behind. She was spooked, he knew that, she'd been that way since they'd left the house and he couldn't seem to settle her down. There was a something eerily foreboding about it.

"No fear, Slayer," he whispered reassuringly in her ear. "Got all the back-up you need right here."

Buffy sighed and placed her hands over his at her waist. She felt so safe with him. She'd been searching for security her whole life, and the fact that she'd found it with Spike was beyond ironic.

"How about we stay at home and Angel can go by himself?" she offered. "I mean, he's a professional demon hunter now. It's like his career."

Spike smiled at her use of the word 'home' and pressed a chaste kiss against the nape of her neck. He preferred it when she put her hair up the way it was now - showed she meant business.

"We're the Chosen Ones, pet," he told her. "Or some such nonsense. Demon hunting's in our job description, too."

He could feel her frown like it was his own.

"I don't like it when you're logical," she muttered. "Go back to being annoying violent-tempered guy."

Spike gave her an affectionate squeeze and then let her go. They had things to do.

"Love you," he said. "Stay safe."

"Spike..."

Buffy spun around and grabbed his arm, keeping him from moving away.

He quirked his eyebrow at her, the scarred one naturally, and then tilted his head in that inquisitive way she used to find so irritating. She took a moment to register how sexy it was and then blew out a frustrated breath. 

Why was this so hard? She was the Slayer, for God's sake!

Spike waited, admiring the tiny line that formed between her brows when she frowned. He knew where this was leading and was willing to bide his time. He could be patient. When it came to something this important, he had all the patience in the world.

Buffy stepped impossibly closer, tipping her head back to gaze straight into his eyes. She loved his eyes. So clear, so blue ... so Spike.

"I love you, Spike," she declared firmly, almost daring him to make some snide comment.

He smirked. "Took you long enough."

Typical Spike reaction. She wouldn't have expected anything less.

She slugged him, the expected Buffy reaction, and he staggered back, laughing, pure joy on his face. There was a brief flurry of punches as she attacked again, this time with more enthusiasm. Spike blocked them all and then grabbed her wrists to pull her tight against his body. They hung there for a second, breathing heavily, suspended in the perfection of it, and then he swooped in to kiss her like he always wanted. 

It was sweet and tender, yet fiery and passionate, a sensuous blend of all the contradictions that defined their relationship. 

It was like coming home ... again.

~*[+]*~

Angel groaned and closed his eyes against Buffy's admission. 

It was all over now. He wanted to curl up into a ball and never come out, Spike's odorous automobile notwithstanding. He could hear them kissing out there and wanted to stake himself - ten to one odds there was a spare floating about here someplace.

He was making a half-hearted attempt to search the floor of the car when the familiar image of a pissed off Cordelia Chase unexpectedly appeared in his mind's eye. Her dark eyes were flashing with anger and he could distinctly hear her voice telling him to pull himself together and do his job, or she'd stake his broody undead ass herself.

What the hell? 

He blinked in confusion. Then he remembered what Herald had said earlier. He'd needed to be present for the link because it would change his life... and the lives of those close to him. 

Close to him? He'd never even considered...Well, maybe once or twice in the heat of the moment, but... _Cordy? His Cordy?_

A speculative grin began to spread across his face.

~*[+]*~

Spike was practically skipping through the trees behind the Mansion, the blade of his sword resting nonchalantly against his shoulder. The Dru problem was still weighing on his mind, but it couldn't dent his enthusiasm in the slightest.

He was out in the sunlight for the first time in over a century, he had the PTB watching his back, and he was loved.

He was loved by Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Of course, all that made him an even bigger freak than the chip had, but that was beside the point. Right at that moment, his unlife couldn't get any better.

Except for that whole soul-retention thing and the stupid hat Buffy had made him wear. 

Just before he'd left to initiate his part of the plan, she'd pulled a black Backstreet Boys cap from out of nowhere and rammed it on his head, telling him that his hair was way too conspicuous in the daylight.

Conspicuous? Spike didn't even know she knew words like that - two syllables were usually a stretch. He grinned as his chip gave a warning tingle at the slur. He _knew_ she was keeping tabs on him.

"I hate this bloody hat," he telegraphed and felt her answering smile.

"Take it off and you die," she said, only semi-serious.

"And who'll be doin' the killin' then?" he drawled. "You? Ooh, I'm so scared." He frowned when she didn't give him a snappy comeback. "What's the matter?" he demanded, coming to a halt on the wooded path.

"Nothing."

"Bollocks." Spike hated when she did this. "Don't you try pullin' any of that bloody 'Power Slayer' rot with me, Buffy."

"We're missing something," she said, and he could feel that spooked-out thing again. "I _know_ we've missed something. Something important."

"Hey, there are two brains at work here," Spike told her. "And _I_ didn't miss a sodding thing."

"Right," Buffy remained distracted. "You're right. I'm probably being way stupid."

"Must be a blonde thing, Blondie." 

"Is not, _Dagwood_."

Spike sniggered at that, then sobered as he finally grasped where her thoughts were heading.

"You're not still dwellin' on that whole 'torture Buffy' bit?"

"It's the only thing Angel saw that hasn't happened."

"Doesn't mean it will."

"But..."

"It _won't_ happen!" Spike insisted. "Not while I'm breathin'."

"You've only been doing that for a couple of days, you know, it _could_ stop."

"You breathe, I breathe," he said. "That's how it works."

"I know." Buffy sighed. There was a pause and then she was back in control. He could almost feel her straightening her shoulders as she reined herself in. "Now quit being insightful-stationary-guy and make with the walking," she ordered. "I hope you're not gonna come to a screaming halt every time you get a whiff of something wiggy or we'll never get this done."

Spike pouted. He could feel himself doing it, stopped and frowned. The Big Bad didn't pout.

"He so does," Buffy was giggling now. "And it's really cute."

"Sod off."

"I love you, Pouty Baby."

"You'd better," he growled. "I don't put up with this kinda crap from just anyone." Despite his tone of voice, Spike's grin was so huge it was almost painful. 

She'd said it again. 

Once she'd gotten it out the first time, it seemed to get easier for her. He hoped she'd be saying it a lot more from now on because he knew he'd never ever get tired of hearing it.

~*[+]*~

Xander had the gut feeling that something was going down. He couldn't put his finger on what exactly - he was just on edge for some reason. Anya wasn't helping his condition any, working steadily away at his last nerve.

"You're not helping," he muttered.

"Of course I'm not helping," Anya retorted. "Because you're not doing anything that I have to help you with. Can't you at least come up with _some_ kind of plan? It doesn't even have to be workable - just planny."

"Okay, how about I dislocate my shoulders, twist my entire body around and do a little rope munching?" Xander cracked. "I'm just about bordering on malnourished here."

Anya's stomach rumbled in a show of gastric solidarity.

"That's what you get for mentioning food," Anya told him. "That grumbly thing only happens when I'm hungry and I wasn't until you said something."

"My tummy grumbles too," Drusilla purred, waltzing into the room. She was dressed in a floor-length white lace gown, a delicate shawl draped over her narrow shoulders. "Like a big old bear." She giggled. "Three grumbly bears."

"Yeah, and her bowl's way empty," Xander said to Anya.

"I met those bears once," she commented. "That whole porridge thing is a complete myth, but Goldilocks? With the breaking-and-entering? All true."

Drusilla stopped dancing and walked up to them with a surprisingly determined gait. 

"Do I look pretty?" she asked them, her manner remarkably forthright. "Must be pretty for Daddy."

"You look very ... bridal," Anya told her. "Very sacrificial lamb-y. And that virginal vibe works for a lot of guys." She sniffed. "Or so I've been told."

"I happen to like bold myself," Xander declared. "Bold and brassy. A chick who knows what she wants and how to get it."

Anya smiled. He was so gonna find out what she wanted when they got rescued. And she had no doubt about the rescue taking place. The good guys always got rescued - that was how it worked. It was usually a last minute thing, though, and that was the part she was worried about. Buffy wasn't exactly known for her punctuality.

Drusilla returned Anya's smile, and for a moment looked like the young innocent woman she had once been.

"My Daddy's coming home," she informed them, clapping her hands gleefully. "We're going to have a lovely party." She giggled again, and spun in a circle, her bright gaze lifted to the ceiling. "Blood and tears and marvelous confusion," she continued dreamily. "The very best kind."

"Did I mention the insane part?" Xander asked dryly.

"And how about the 'Where's Giles?' part?" Anya shot back. "I don't like that we're alone with her."

"Not of the good," Xander agreed. Dru tended to be unpredictable. As much as he hated to admit it, he wished Spike were here. He'd always been able to keep the vampiress in line - even better than Angelus had. In fact, Angelus couldn't even keep himself in line and had been all for sucking the world into hell. 

Xander's face dropped in open-mouthed shock when the object of his musings strolled in the door.

"Dru," Angelus growled sternly, his demon visage in place. "What have you done?"

She pivoted to look at him, worshipping him with her eyes.

"Angel," she breathed. "My beautiful Angel of death."

"Yeah, precious, Daddy's home."


	11. World Endage

****

Chapter Eleven - WORLD ENDAGE

Spike could barely contain his laughter. The situation wasn't truly funny, but Angel's blatant discomfort was tickling him something fierce. Dru was normally so perceptive, couldn't she see him shaking in his oh-so-evil leather pants?

"Concentrate," Buffy scolded in his head. 

Spike scowled. He was concentrating. Wasn't his fault his Sire was such a bad actor.

He forced himself to focus on the people in the room - to give Buffy a head's up on the situation. Dru's attention was currently centered on the Magnificent Poof, but that didn't mean she was unaware of her surroundings. More than likely she could already sense him on some level.

He shifted his position at the window, wincing as the blade of his sword scraped against the stone wall. Way to be stealthy, Spike.

The whelp and his demon girl didn't appear to be in any immediate danger. That they were tied up out of the way was actually a bonus - one less thing to worry about.

Where the bloody hell was the Watcher?

The entire plan depended on his being present - and he was most notably absent. Had Dru gotten wind of something? Stashed him someplace? 

A frustrated breath hissed through his clenched teeth as he cast an absent gaze overhead.

Buffy apparently worked out where his thoughts were headed before he could fully process them.

"No," she broke in suddenly. "No way in hell."

Spike backed away and looked up, measuring the distance to the second floor window. He'd made bigger leaps before...

"What part of 'no' did you not understand?" Buffy demanded, getting irritated at his lack of reaction. "You're not going in there."

Spike gathered himself like an Olympic long-jumper, taking a short run-up and then launching himself upward. He landed on his feet like a cat.

"Piece of bloody cake," he crowed, balancing easily on the ledge. He'd even managed to keep hold of the sword.

"Damn it, Spike!" Buffy yelled. "Stop ignoring me!"

Spike winced. She was getting pretty brassed off, but she hadn't yet resorted to her now-patented chip-nipping technique. Right now, that was more or less a go-ahead.

He inspected the window and, finding no locks, slid it open and crawled in, pushing his way past heavy velvet curtains. Once inside, he surveyed his surroundings.

It was one of the bedrooms. He ran his fingers along a nearby dresser, rubbing the powdery residue between the tips. Either Dru had taken to decorating the place with vamp-dust or it hadn't been used in a while.

He turned and whipped the curtain open. No use in fumbling around in the dark if there was no danger of involuntary solar combustion.

It was when he turned back that he noticed the poor unfortunate sap tied to the bed.

He blinked, rapidly taking in the teenager's tattered, bloodstained shirt, the burn-blistered skin and multiple puncture wounds - and, most tellingly, the antique porcelain doll perched on the pillow as though keeping watch. Looked like Dru had been keeping herself royally entertained while she waited for Daddy.

"Who is it?" Buffy had obviously given up trying to order him around. Now she was along for the ride.

"Pizza delivery, looks like." He made no move toward the bed, but tipped his head, watching for breathing. Yeah, there it was. "Still kickin'."

"Can you get him out?"

Spike gnawed at his lower lip, the sword tapping agitatedly against his leg. Catch 22, his favorite. If he tried getting the kid out, he might blow the plan open. With Giles AWOL it was already in serious trouble. But if he didn't get the kid out, he may very well die.

"Leave him," Buffy instructed quietly.

"Huh?" Spike couldn't immediately grasp why she was de-prioritizing someone in serious danger of popping his clogs. She was the Slayer, protector of the innocent and all that other pretentious rot. "But he..."

"He's kept going this long," she reasoned. "And we've got to stay focused on Giles." There was only a brief flash of guilt from her.

"You're being incredibly selfish, Slayer," he drawled, deliberately using the title to draw a reaction.

"Point?" 

"You know the bloody point."

"I can't believe you're getting all morally indignant with me about this."

"Why not? I've got scruples, a system of ethics, just like you."

"Fine!" she snapped. He could almost see her throwing her hands in the air. "Do what you want."

"Fine," he echoed, fighting a smile. "He'll just have to keep. I got a rogue Watcher to hunt down."

"But, but you just said ... you... Aargh!" Buffy choked, wanting to choke _him_. "You are seriously driving me nuts."

"Now, now, pet. I never once said that I was goin' for the rescue option," Spike explained patiently. "I was just testin' your waters."

"Do the words 'not a good time' mean anything to you?"

"Nope." He gave the pizza kid one last glance and headed for the door. "Wonder how Peaches is doin'?"

~*[+]*~

Angel wanted to run screaming all the way back to Los Angeles. Back to the relative safety of the Hyperion and Cordelia's smart-ass teasing.

He hadn't remembered that Dru could be so openly affectionate. But then, he'd managed to suppress quite a few of his more unpleasant Angelus-related memories, and Dru was a whole chapter of unpleasant.

He shifted where he sat on the sofa. Drusilla curled against his side with her feet tucked up, her head resting on his shoulder. 

"I only told him of the silvery moon," the vampiress divulged. She hadn't yet explained whom the 'him' in question had been. "Of picnics and walks in the park. Of glorious plans." She sat up and regarded him coyly, her slender fingers toying with the buttons of his silk shirt. "But I kept _them_ for you special." She was talking of Xander and Anya now. "Daddy likes to play with the Slayer's friends, I remembered."

"We're sharable," Xander suggested from across the room. "If that's good for prolonging the not-being-dead."

Angel growled at him and was rewarded when Xander blanched. Maybe there was some fun to be had here, after all.

He got to his feet and strolled toward the couple. Dru watched him with a sly smile.

"You want prolonged? I can do that." He took Xander's chin in a vice-like grip and leant in, grinning lecherously. He was still in game-face and his fangs shone, razor sharp. "I can draw it out for as long as you want. Make it last and last..."

"Vampires have wonderful stamina," Anya chimed in, not phased in the least by his posturing.

Angel tried not to laugh at her observation, but a short bark emerged from his throat regardless. "I like her," he said approvingly to Xander, covering the slip. "She's fresh." He licked his lips, trying for crude and hoping he pulled it off. "Tasty."

Xander glared at him with venom. 

"Touch her," he stated gravely. "And I _will_ kill you."

Angel was impressed by his sincerity. The boy had grown.

"Can I have her then?" Dru asked, sidling up to her Sire. She wrapped her hands around his arm and bounced on her toes like an excited child. "Can I? I'll only share her with the new boy if he asks nice."

Angel closed his eyes for a moment, relieved that she'd finally given him an opening. "New boy?" he asked, forcing suspicion into his tone. "What new boy?"

"Baby Rupert," she said calmly. "A wee lil' Ripper just like Jack." 

She stared blankly at Anya's blouse, seemingly distracted by the glittery fabric, then turned her gaze back to Angel. He was surprised at the sudden coherence in her eyes.

"Something has gone dreadfully wrong," she said, and collapsed at his feet.

~*[+]*~

Outside, by Spike's DeSoto, the Slayer, too, slumped to the ground, an agonized cry tearing from her throat. 

"Buffy?" Willow gaped at her friend in shock. "Buffy, what's wrong?" 

Tara stumbled also, bumping against Willow's shoulder, then drew herself upright and stared hard at the Mansion. 

"Something's up," she said. "Somebody in there just cast some seriously powerful magic."

Willow shot a startled glance at the building and then turned her attention back to Buffy. The Slayer was rocking back and forth, holding herself. Almost like she was in pain. 

"I've lost him," she said. Her voice was distant, almost apathetic, but when she stared up at them her eyes were brimming with tears. "Spike's gone. I can't feel him anymore."

"That's not..." Willow shook her head. "Buffy, that can't happen. The PTB said that the link was..."

"Screw the bloody link," Buffy interrupted, emotions flaring. "This is about more than the link, it always has been. I _knew_ this was going to happen. I was all premonitiony back at the house and Spike... I can't feel him, Will. I can't..." She whimpered. "It's like half of me isn't here." 

"N-not being all flippy about it, but technically, half of you isn't," Tara said. She held up a hand defensively when Buffy glowered at her. "He is the other half of you, right?"

"Sure, but..."

"I really don't think anything has happened to him," Tara continued. She gestured at the Mansion. "There's a barrier spell, a pretty potent one. It's blocking all psychic unity. Don't ask me how I know that, I just do."

"Giles," Buffy sighed. "Also known as Ripper, the Sorcerer's Apprentice." She stared at the witches with sudden realization. "Something being cut," she said. "This is the me-being-tortured part Angel was talking about..."

"Yeah, but if he's worked out what we were doing," Willow said. "Then..."

Tara nodded. "Then the fan's been hit by some major league crapola."

~*[+]*~

His heartbeat had stopped.

There had been no warning. One minute it had been thumping merrily away and the next ... nothing. Spike felt like a hole had been torn in his chest. He wanted to scream, wanted to howl at the injustice of it. 

He couldn't lose Buffy now. He'd only just broken through. They hadn't had any time...

"Interesting that you'd immediately think she was dead."

Spike turned toward the voice.

The Watcher lounged in the doorway of the Master Bedroom, his yellow eyes gleaming behind his glasses. Beyond him, Spike could see a residual haze of smoke and some burning candles. There was a distinct herbal smell. 

He sighed, identifying what had happened.

"Bloody spellcasters," he muttered, rolling his eyes at his own gullibility. "Can't trust 'em worth squat." He tipped his head back and glared at the Watcher from under the bill of his cap. "Short out the psychic fuse did you, Rupert?"

"And he's not as thick as he looks," Giles droned. "Though you never did realize that I'm still partially connected to you."

"You are?" Spike frowned. This was news to him. "How?" 

"The demon has a bond with its human vessel," Giles informed him. "And despite its telepathic freedom, it cannot physically leave the host."

"Makes sense." Spike was making conversation for the sheer heck of it while he tried to come up with some sort of alternate plan. The original was shot to hell. He shivered, feeling his body temperature dropping. It almost felt like...

"You understand that you're dying, don't you?" the Watcher asked conversationally.

Observant bastard.

"Figured as much," Spike admitted. He flashed a grin, hoping it came off cockier than he was feeling. "Though, hey, I'm pretty damn good being a corpse. Had a whole century to practice."

"Hmm." Giles straightened and moved toward him. "Now, how about you hand over that sword? Then we can reconvene proceedings downstairs."

"Why?" Spike lifted the weapon to an offensive position. "'Fraid I'll take you one to one? Need Dru for back-up do you?" 

The shivering had increased to bone-shaking tremors and the blade shook noticeably. He was so bloody cold.

"Actually, I need her for you're re-siring."

"My which?" Spike blinked, he was getting dizzy now. Re-siring? What was he on about?

Then the penny dropped. The Watcher was gonna kill off what remained of his soul - kill William. The demon was preparing to return to an empty vessel. 

~*[+]*~

Angel tested the ropes for a fifth time, making sure that they were secure. Dru was tremendously adept at escapism. He should know - he'd taught her.

"So you're not evil?" Anya asked him.

"No." He didn't so much as glance over his shoulder at her while he deposited Dru on the sofa. She hadn't even stirred.

"But you were all ... Angelus-y," Xander protested. "Evilness personified. I mean, demonified." He shook his head. "I mean, I don't believe you."

Angel knew that. He hadn't yet freed them for that exact reason. Xander's first instinct would be to drive a stake through his heart, or open the curtains and turn him into sun-dust. He had to talk them round first.

"I'm not evil. Okay? I was only doing that to distract Dru."

"Distracted me pretty good," Anya commented. "You were large and glowery and you had pointy fangs. I was very intimidated."

Angel fought the somewhat bizarre urge to thank her. He returned to the couple and grabbed hold of their bindings. "Do you promise not to stake me if I let you out?"

Xander glared at him distrustfully while his partner chirped a cheerful "You bet!" He scowled over his shoulder at her and she rolled her eyes. "Like there's a stake handy anyway."

Angel's lips twitched and he yanked at the ropes, tearing them off in one quick movement. He caught Xander's fist as it was on the upward swing. The boy had actually attempted to take him on - he was a little surprised by that.

"No," he ground out, squeezing the hand until Xander winced, some of his knuckles popping. "I told you what happened. And I haven't got time to straighten you out now. Something's not right. Dru shouldn't have collapsed like that." 

He loosened his grip and headed back toward the sofa. He thrust his hands in his pockets and watched the vamp as she slept, almost like he was guarding her.

"Ouch." Anya rubbed at her wrists. "I hate being tied up. Now I have pins and needles. And ... and I need to pee," she complained.

"Good to see you've got you priorities straight, Ahn," Xander drawled, wriggling his fingers to get the feeling back in his hand. He moved to join Angel, trying to ignore the embarrassing rubbery-leg thing that developed when he walked. "So, Dead Boy, if this is the big rescue, where's Buffy?"

"She should be outside, waiting for a signal." Angel glanced at the heavy drapery shielding the windows, then moved in that direction. He'd have to do that now - there was no other choice. Spike had obviously bungled his part, or she'd be inside already. 

Xander was still peering at him with suspicion. 

"And where's Giles?"

"Beats me." Angel only wished he knew the answer to that. They had all assumed that he would be here with Drusilla. "He was supposed to be here. He's gotta be in the house somewhere."

Anya's terrified squeak made them both spin around in surprise.

Giles had the ex-demon by the throat. He smiled at them, fangs and all.

"Quite the party you're having down here," he noted, still sounding like the genteel Watcher that they all knew. "Mind if I crash?"

"As long as you didn't bring any of that hokey English food," Xander wisecracked. "'Cause, come on, blood sausage? What's up with that?"

Angel took advantage of the Watcher's momentary outrage to leap toward the windows and wrench the curtain back. He pinned himself against the wall as sunlight streamed into the room. 

Giles dropped Anya and bolted - Xander hot on his heels. Angel watched them go with a grimace. Even the filtered light was stinging his skin. Luckily, the high back of the sofa was protecting Dru from the blinding rays. He hadn't even thought of her safety.

He sighed with relief when the demon girl closed the curtains once more.

"I like the not evil you," she told him frankly. "But the other guy was darn sexy."

~*[+]*~

Buffy saw the curtain fly back and began sprinting toward the Mansion without a second thought, the half-forgotten weapon bag bouncing on her back. Willow and Tara hurried behind, struggling to keep up with her. 

She had to help Spike. It was the same deal as choosing between Giles and Dru's captive pizza guy - there _was_ no choice. Spike, and Spike alone, was her priority. Nothing else mattered.

She kept running flat out and, not slowing in the slightest, smashed through the front door with her shoulder. She landed heavily, sprawled on the rug in the front foyer.

Anya peered down at her. "It wasn't locked, you know," she said.

"Thanks for the tip." Buffy dumped the weapon bag and began foraging in it. "Where's..."

"He's upstairs," Angel informed her. 

She frowned up at him. His skin was a little reddened and peeling in a few places. Sunburn?

"Xander chased him up there," Anya boasted. "It was very heroic."

"Xander chased Spike?"

"No. Giles." Angel glowered at her. "Spike's inside? How and when did that happen?"

Buffy ignored his questions and armed the crossbow with practiced ease, her movements efficient and precise. She tucked some spare bolts in her jacket pocket and headed for the staircase just as Willow and Tara arrived. 

"Buffy, no." Willow called. "You can't..."

The Slayer hesitated for a split second, but then continued up the stairs without looking back.

"She's upset," Willow explained to the others. "Giles has done something funky with the link. Messed up psychic unity. She can't feel Spike."

"That explains Dru's unconsciousness," Angel muttered. "Can you still work the exorcism spell?"

"Only if we can break the one Giles has set up," Tara said. "And we have to work fast." She held up the smelly potion-filled mortar. "This stuff is only active for a few hours."

"Right." Angel sighed. "Anya? Watch Dru. We're going up."

~*[+]*~

Buffy cautiously rounded the top of the stairs and trained her crossbow on the closest target, only to find it pointed at Xander. She frowned, frustrated, and lowered her arm.

"Giles?"

"In there," he whispered, indicating the closed door of the Master Bedroom. "The door sealed behind him. And I mean airtight, like a ... tightly sealed door. You couldn't even do an axe-happy Jack Nicholson on that thing."

"He's got Spike."

"Well, what the hell for?" Xander scowled. 

"He's got something planned," Buffy hissed. "Something to do with the link." 

"If you ask me, this link deal has been nothing but a hunk of trouble."

"You missed the big revelation-fest, Xand," Buffy told him. "The link was supposed to happen. Apparently the Slayer-Vamp tag-team is ordained by the PTB."

"The who-tee-huh?"

"That's what I said," Buffy giggled. She nudged him with her elbow. "The Powers That Be."

"Great googley-moogley!"

"Exactly," Buffy nodded. "Giles has screwed up the connection, though. Cast a barrier spell."

"Hence the lockout and the herby stinkage," Xander wrinkled his nose.

The rest of the Scoobies barreled up the steps behind them.

"Hey, lay off the stampeding elephants impersonation," Buffy complained.

"It's not like he doesn't know we're here, Buffy," Angel said.

"Okay," she acknowledged. "But you could still make with the stealthies. I don't want him getting all spooked and fang-happy."

"Fang happy?" Willow arched her brows. "Giles can't bite Spike. Can he? Spike's like, part of him. Or he's part of Spike. Or something."

"That's it!" Tara blurted suddenly. 

They all peered at her curiously and she blinked back at them, a deer-in-the-headlights expression on her face.

"M-Mr. Giles' plan," she explained. "He probably wanted to, um, the demon probably wanted his body back. His whole body, I mean, without the soul. The way it was supposed to be. Originally."

Willow gasped. "And with the link all defecty..."

"Spike's may already be dying."

~*[+]*~

Spike really wished the dying thing would hurry up and happen already. The whole shivery-shaky routine was starting to get monotonous. He'd never been this cold before. Not even that time he and Dru went skinny-dipping in the Rhine in the middle of winter. 

He smiled at the memory - definitely not one of his finest moments.

The bitch of this situation was that he was going to die wearing the stupid Backstreet Boys cap. The bloody thing wouldn't come off. He'd fainted, been dragged into the bedroom and tied to the bed, and the sodding thing had stuck like glue. It was such a humiliating way to go, not worthy of a Master vampire at all.

He sighed. Giles was pacing up and down at the foot of the bed. It was beginning to annoy him. 

"Hey Rupert, what's got your knickers twisted?"

"Bloody Slayer," the Watcher muttered.

"What'd she do?" Spike smiled, despite his chattering teeth. "Got an irksome habit of spoilin' carefully laid plans, that one." His smile grew wistful. "I love that about her."

"You don't love her," Giles hissed. "You can't love."

"Bollocks," Spike argued. "You know what it's like. The demon runs the joint, right? But the whole time, the soul's back there, puttin' in his two bobs worth. Makin' you feel things, makin' you care."

"It's terrible," Giles admitted. And for a moment it really was Giles - the human features dropping into place, the soft blue eyes looking pained. "A constant and relentless battle."

Spike stared. He was getting through. Who the hell knew he had the ability to do that? 

"What you're doing is wrong," he continued, trying to press his advantage. "You know that, somewhere in there."

The Watcher's eyes flashed yellow once again, his anger flaring.

"I am perfectly right," he arrogantly announced. "And I will send this demon back to where it came from, without the abomination of a soul to corrupt it. We'll see how much your Slayer cares then."

"She's your Slayer, too, Rupert." Spike was tiring again - the room getting fuzzy around the edges. "And what you're doing will kill her."

~*[+]*~

She wasn't ready. She wasn't up to Giles' standard. The barrier spell was too powerful.

Willow crouched in the stairwell with a makeshift altar arranged on the top riser, the other Scoobies gathered in a huddle behind her. She frowned, fighting off the wave of self-doubt, and concentrated. 

She could _so_ do this. She _had_ to do this, or everything would be ... bad, really bad - in a world endage sort of way. 

"Um, with a honeyed sacrifice I invoke thee," she intoned, lighting a small beeswax candle that she'd centered on a chalk-drawn cross. "At the crossroads, the triple power of Hecate. Dissolve this hindrance and restore broken ties. So mote it be."

There was no reaction for a whole second. 

Then a gust of icy wind blew up the stairwell and rushed past them, extinguishing the candle and blasting the bedroom door off its hinges. Willow slumped against the wall, exhausted.

As soon as the barrier was out of the way, Buffy was inside, her crossbow once again aimed and ready. 

She wasn't prepared for the psychic explosion that occurred as the Serpiente re-established itself. There was a familiar blinding-white flash and an agonizing emotional jolt - her heart doing an amazing skippy-trippy thing that hurt like hell. She gasped and stumbled back to lean against the doorframe, Angel reaching out to support her.

Spike's body lurched of the bed, pulling against his bonds, his back arching painfully as he took a huge rasping breath. The veins in his neck bulged as his borrowed heartbeat began pumping blood through his system for the second time. 

"Jesus, Slayer," he groaned when it subsided, his eyes watering. "You've gotta stop doing that."

Giles was staring at them from across the room, knowing that his efforts had been thwarted, but not willing to give up just yet.

"Yes, you really must," he agreed. Surprisingly, his voice was devoid of sarcasm. "This affinity you have with vampires is most unseemly for a Slayer. It's vulgar. It debases you and your position."

Buffy, Angel and Spike all glared at him.

"Give it up, Rupert," Angel scoffed. "You're out-numbered. And really out-powered." He glanced upward, a flicker of amusement playing at the corner of his mouth. "With a capital P."

A tormented shriek echoed its way up the stairs, quickly followed by Anya's redundant shout. "Help! She's awake!"

Spike blinked. "Who's awake?"

Angel grinned then - an Angelus sort of grin that closely resembled one of his Childe's more annoying smirks. 

"We can do this with force or without," he said to Giles. "Either way, that demon's going back where he's supposed to be. Soul included."

"Not that he's wanted," Spike muttered as Buffy released his restraints.

"He's wanted," she assured him, stroking his cheek. "The demon is part of who you are. Part of what I love."

"That's way too sentimental, pet," he scolded, sitting up and pulling the much-hated cap from his head. He stared at it for a moment, then, "You mind if I puke in this?"

~*[+]*~

Willow put a hand to her head to combat her dizziness. Doing two strong, mega-important spells one after the other like this wasn't really a good idea, but at least her nose wasn't bleeding. Not yet anyway.

Tara was frowning at her concerned. "Are you okay?"

"Oh sure," Willow assured her brightly. "I can handle."

"You better," Spike grumbled. "Don't wanna be turned into a tweedy Watcher or what all."

He was sitting on the edge of the bed in the Master Bedroom, dressed in his jeans and red T-shirt. Buffy had somehow managed to acquire his duster and was draped in its folds, the garment rather large on her small frame.

"Oh, come on," she goaded from across the room. "I can just see you in a pair of those little wire-framed glasses, some natty patches on your elbows." She frowned suddenly. "What _are_ those anyway? Not like you'd need padding in a booky environment 'cause, hey, books? Not exactly on the sharp side."

Spike growled at her. She knew damn well that he used to wear glasses like the ones she was describing. She was pushing the privacy envelope now, on the verge of exposing his secret past as the pathetically inadequate William the Bloody Awful Poet.

Buffy gave him a huge, mock-innocent smile.

Tara scowled at them, uncharacteristically stern. 

"Hush now," she chided. "We need to concentrate."

Giles sat on the opposite side of the bed, Angel standing guard in case the demon decided to come to the fore and make a break for it. 

"So what's involved here?" the older vampire asked. "It's just your average exorcism spell right?"

"It's a bit more complicated than that, but yeah, sort of." Willow took the stone mortar from Tara and dipped her fingers into its sticky contents. 

Spike pulled back as she reached toward him. "Here, you're not puttin' that on me!"

Willow just rolled her eyes and smeared a pungent-smelling dollop on his forehead. "One," she said. She walked around to the other side and did the same to Giles. "To one."

"From one to one," Tara echoed. "Joined."

"Joined in anger, separated by same." Willow's eyes had turned an odd shade, a deep purple color similar that of the potion itself. "What has come apart shall be whole again."

Her head was thrown back and the purplish light from her eyes blasted to the ceiling like a bolt of lightning. It ricocheted around the room for a moment before slamming into the marks she had made on Spike and Giles' foreheads.

"To one from one," Tara chanted. "Separated."

Spike and Giles were both flung backward at the same time. They lay on the bed unmoving.

Willow's eyes flashed once and then returned to normal. "One from one, may each remain. It is as willed, the Powers ordain."

The spell complete, she sagged to her knees. This time her nose had begun to bleed. Tara moved to her side, feeling a bit wobbly herself even though hers had only been a supporting part.

"Did it work?" Buffy asked. She was afraid to move. The figures on the bed also remained motionless. She'd know if they were dead, right?

Spike suddenly rolled into a sitting position, groaning, and Buffy rushed to him. "Are you okay?"

He peered at her groggily, feeling like a bus had hit him - something that he could attest to firsthand, having actually had it happen to him once. 

"I want my bloody coat back," he told her, receiving a punch on the shoulder for his trouble. "Oi, watch it. I'm delicate, you know." He pouted and she captured his lips in a relieved kiss.

"Giles?" Angel prodded the Watcher tentatively.

"He might be out for a bit longer," Tara said. "Spike's got that whole accelerated healing thing going on."

"So that means it worked?" Buffy sat on the bed next to Spike, resting her head against the shoulder she had just hit. She took his hand and he entwined their fingers, giving them a comforting squeeze. "I mean, if Giles was still demony he'd be healed as well."

"Guessin' that's about right," Willow said, her voice strained. She got to her feet with Tara bracing her. They swayed a little.

"It's over then?" Spike inquired. "I'm fully vamped up?"

"Try it," Buffy urged, understanding what he was thinking. "It's the only way to know for sure."

"Try what?" Tara asked, only to jump as Spike slipped into game face.

He grinned at them, with his fangs gleaming and a twinkle in his yellowed eyes. "The Big Bad is back, ladies."

Angel cleared his throat, reminding his Childe of his presence.

"What?" Spike asked innocently, his face once again human. "Like that doesn't include you, Nancy boy."


	12. That Explainy Bit At The End...

****

Chapter Twelve - THAT EXPLAINY BIT AT THE END

Drusilla was lost. All her lovely work was coming undone. It was torn and ragged and unraveling and Daddy didn't even care. He wasn't really her Daddy anyway. Not anymore, never again.

"You're not my Daddy," she said.

Angel turned his head to look at her. He was sitting on the arm of the sofa where she was lying. "No."

"You weren't ever my..." she trailed off and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she was oddly lucid. "I was played for a fool."

Angel gaped. "Dru?" His voice was soft, uncertain.

"A cloud has lifted," she told him. "It is as if all the threads have been respun." She smiled.

"So you're not unstable anymore?" Anya peered at her. "No more nuts?"

"What do you mean, no nuts?" Xander asked, strolling into the room. He threw an arm around Anya's shoulders. "Of course she's nuts. The nuttiest fruitcake in the whole bakery."

Angel had moved to crouch next to his Childe.

"They fixed her," he murmured, stroking his hand across her forehead. "The PTB. They've made amends for using her, for setting up the link." He turned to look at the young couple. "She's sane. She's still a vampire, but she's sane." 

Xander raised his eyebrows. "And that's good because -?" 

Not receiving an answer, he scowled. "Hey, I'm just saying. Psycho-Dru was bad enough, but imagine the stuff she could do when she's tack-sharp."

"Maybe she got a soul, too," Anya suggested. "To balance it out or something."

"They don't go handing out souls to vampires willy-nilly," Xander said. "They're for the special editions only."

"Did you hear that then?" Spike asked as he and Buffy guided Giles into the room, Willow and Tara behind them. "Spike's special. I'm touched, Harris, really." He grinned when Xander glowered at him. "So what's all this crap about souls? Bloody epidemic now, is it?"

"She hasn't got a soul," Angel said. He stood, jamming his hands into his pockets. "But I didn't think you had one either, and I was wrong."

"Well now, color me gob-smacked," Spike quirked his eyebrow at Buffy. "Y'hear that, pet? Hair Boy was wrong. Never thought I'd live to witness it. A sodding miracle is what it is." He smiled sarcastically. "Brings a tear to your eye."

Angel sighed. Oh yeah, Spike's demon was well and truly back, and on top form. He wanted to kill him already.

"Hello my William," Dru said quietly. She was sitting up now, her bound hands resting on her lap.

Spike jumped, startled. He'd forgotten that she was there. Odd.

"Dru," he said cautiously. "Alright, love?"

"I'm very confused," she informed him. "Everything in my head is silent. The pixies are all gone. But there's screaming, William. Faint screaming ... a long way away in the past."

Spike stared at her then, a hard searching stare. Then he blinked and turned to Angel. "Is she -?"

His Sire nodded. "Yeah."

"But no soul?"

"No. I don't think so."

"What the hell are the PTB thinking?" Buffy asked. She had picked up what was happening from Spike - she could sense his shock, and a warped sort of joy. "She's still vampy. Isn't she just gonna go back to killing people?" 

Strangely, the thought of staking Drusilla hadn't occurred to her until right then. Spike's influence, no doubt.

"Don't figure she'll be skippin' off for a lovely rampage anytime soon," Spike said. Buffy frowned at him and he gestured at the sofa. 

Drusilla was crying. "It hurts," she whispered, rocking a little. She'd tucked her feet up so that she was hugging her knees. "All the children hurt and I am one with their pain. One and all."

"Okay, if all her marbles are back, why is she still with the insano-speak?"

"Thinkin' the second-sight deal's still in effect," Spike tipped his head, biting his lower lip thoughtfully. "She's goin' on about her victims, I reckon. Feelin' a tad remorseful."

"_No soul_," Angel stressed. "She doesn't feel remorse or regret or any of it. She isn't capable."

That stymied Spike. He did the Giles-like landed-fish thing, opening his mouth to speak and then closing it again. The Watcher rescued him.

"I have a theory, if you're interested."

Spike pinned him with an intense stare. "And when did you have time to formulate a theory?" he asked. "Thought you were all intent on your little game of Let's Kill Spike."

Giles' expression was pained. "I believe I _have_ apologized for that."

Spike grunted and then sprawled onto the sofa next to Drusilla. He patted her back automatically, the comforting gesture second nature.

Buffy smiled. She knew he was just being Spike. She didn't feel the least bit threatened by his closeness to his ex. Her eyes narrowed dangerously. But if Dru kept cozying up like that, she'd better watch herself. Nobody messed with her ... boyfriend? 

Now there were two completely unmixy words - Spike and boyfriend. It sounded so lame. And besides that, there was nothing boyish or friendly about him. He was too... too... Her mind went blank.

Un-categorisable, that's what he was, sitting there all smug and unique in his ... uniqueness.

Spike looked over at her and raised his brows, his tongue doing that obscene little curling thing behind his teeth. She wanted to hit him. 

"Go on," Angel prompted. 

Buffy blinked. It took her a second to realize that he was talking to Giles and not giving her permission to manhandle the younger vampire.

"Yeah. Go on then," Spike echoed. He hadn't taken his eyes from Buffy and was obviously directing the provocation her way. 

He winked and turned away. To everyone else, it looked as though he was focusing his attention on Drusilla. Buffy knew different.

Spike head snapped back sharply, banging against the back of the sofa. "Aargh! Bloody hell, woman," he complained, wincing in pain. "Are you tryin' to give me a meltdown?"

The Slayer scowled and plopped down into a nearby chair. "Pig," she muttered under her breath.

"Chip-abuser," he retorted, rubbing at his forehead.

Drusilla gazed at him. "You're hurting, my sweet," she crooned. "Do you want me to make it better?"

He suddenly wanted to be anywhere other than where he was.

"Uh, no," he mumbled, pulling away from her and trying to stuff himself into the corner of the sofa. Distance, mate, as much distance as you can get.

Buffy grinned broadly, enjoying his discomfort. "So, Giles, fill us in on the sitch."

"Of course," the Watcher said. Like the others in the room, he was aware that there were undercurrents explaining the way Buffy and Spike were acting. Link undercurrents. They would have to get used to the exclusion, he knew, and to the fact that the couple would always be connected in a way that was beyond their imagining.

He cleared his throat. "Now, I believe this can be traced back to the medieval physiology of the spirit..."

"Should we have popcorn for this?" Xander asked. "'Cause popcorn and Giles-length lectures? Way compatible. Not to mention all the buttery goodness." His stomach growled and he was rewarded with a collection of pointed stares. "Sorry."

"It was believed that the soul consisted of three separate parts - the animal, natural and vital spirits," Giles continued. "Each of which controlled certain functions of the human body."

"Galen," Buffy blurted.

"Y-yes, quite," the Watcher peered at her in amazement and she shifted under the scrutiny.

"Hey, don't look at me," she grumbled. "Spike thought it."

"Greek bloke," the vampire interjected. "Physician, or something. 'Round about the second century." The amazed looks moved on to him and he scowled. "What? Think I don't know research?" He snorted and dug into his pockets for a cigarette. "Wankers."

Giles was flustered for a moment, but went on. "The, ah, animal spirit controlled motion and sensation, thought process. The natural - other body functions like nutrition, generation and growth. And the vital spirit was responsible for breath and heat, for life. It was also believed to be the basis of emotions."

"I think I see where you're headed with this," Angel said. "When a vampire is turned, it loses that vital spirit, right?"

"That is the theory," Giles confirmed. "They retain the sense of touch, they move and eat and think. But they have no body heat, no breath and, well, no morals whatsoever."

"Fascinating stuff," Spike drawled. "Really. I'm on the edge of my seat here." He inhaled of his cigarette. "Is there a point?"

"I am of the opinion that this vital spirit can also be broken down into its separate parts. A fragmentation, if you will, and that this is what happened to you."

"Yeah?" The vampire beamed, impressed. "Neat."

"PTB left that moral thingy behind, huh?" Buffy asked.

"Is that what that is?" Spike appeared interested now. "That whole bloody conscience bit?"

Giles nodded. "In effect, though, there are still certain sections of your soul missing."

"But they aren't," Willow said suddenly. "Missing, I mean."

"What are you on about, Red?" 

"She means Buffy," Angel explained, understanding what the witch meant. "That's why you've got human qualities now. The demon is still in your body, so you have it's strength and the need to drink blood, but the link with Buffy has given back the missing pieces. Heat, breath ... life. She completes you. She is part of your soul now."

Buffy and Spike stared at each other, overcome.

"Wow," she whispered and he gave her a big sappy grin.

"Always said you made me feel alive," he commented, then puffed out his chest, pleased. "How right was I?"

"Pride before a fall," Drusilla noted absently, gazing at her bound wrists and fiddling with a loose tie.

Spike rolled his eyes, oblivious to the pure Buffyness of the expression, and blew out a cloud of smoke. "So what's with the Dru-regression then? She get unfragmented or what?"

"That about sums it up actually," Giles said. "I'm theorizing that in order to maintain her mental cognizance, the Powers have restored the very same portion of spirit that was left behind when you were turned, her emotional center."

"So she _is_ feeling guilty," Angel observed. He shook his head. "Weird."

"If Spike had his morals on board for the big vampy voyage, how come he didn't get all broody like Angel?" Willow asked. "'Cause no offense, but he doesn't seem all that guilt-ridden."

"He's not," Buffy said. She frowned. "Well, sort of. It's hard to explain. It's a whole thing about colors and shades and shades of colors..."

"Grey mostly," Spike muttered, stubbing out his cigarette on the arm of the sofa and batting out the material when it caught fire.

"Shades of _grey_?" Giles did the flying eyebrow routine, his glasses slipping down his nose. "Isn't that a little ... cliched?"

"No," Buffy defended. "Not cliched. Just ... used a lot."

"Quit while you're ahead, love," Spike relayed via the link, his gentle smile verging on indulgent.

"Don't get all patronizing," Buffy snapped. "I hate that. I'm not stupid."

Spike kept his mouth shut, being sensible for once. He tucked his hands behind his head and slouched down against the sofa cushions, ostensibly gazing at the ceiling. He could feel how defensive she was about this, and he knew she understood a lot more than she let on most of the time. 

Buffy stared at him, trying to stay annoyed. He looked so masculine and inviting all spread out like that, she wanted to run over and sit on his lap. Her eyelids lowered dreamily as she followed that thought...

Spike abruptly sat back up, shooting a scandalized look in her direction. She must have roused William's repressed Victorian sensibilities. Cool.

He got to his feet and began pacing in front of the fireplace like a caged animal.

"Right," he said. "Let's cut the long story. I _did_ feel guilty about stuff, but not enough to try and interfere in what the demon wanted." He pointed at Giles. "You know how hard that is."

"Indeed," the Watcher mumbled.

"And then came the chip. All zap and blinding pain, forcing the demon back and lettin' William out of his shell." Spike stopped and scrounged about for another cigarette. He came up short and sighed. "Got quite Peaches-like there for a bit. It was horrible. I wanted to stake myself."

"Yeah," Xander agreed, remembering. "In _my_ basement, in _my _favorite shirt. And tell me again why we stopped you doing that."

"Ooky," Willow supplied absently, not really listening.

"Uh huh." Xander wasn't certain that it was even a word, but good enough. Especially since Spike was glaring at him like he was considering tearing out a good portion of his throat. You had to hand it to the guy - he could be pretty damn intimidating when he wanted, chip or no.

Spike continued staring for a minute, and then strolled over to stand in front of Buffy, a muscle working in his jaw. "And then there was you," he said.

Buffy smiled up at him. She already knew this story.

"Buffy Summers," he reached out and tenderly stroked her hair. "Who I've loved for as long as I can remember. And probably even before."

"Before time and beyond all earthly bounds," Drusilla confirmed. She watched them, her gaze clear and sharp. "I could see his terrible love, you know. My sweet boy had a head full of dreams and all of them were you - glorious dreams of hearts and music, as bright as the day. It covered him." She shook her head. "Sad. So sad."

"You _knew_?" Spike turned on her, his fingers flexing like he was crushing something. He was imagining that it was her neck.

"I've always known, William. Always and forever to be joined. I remember what they told me." She drifted for a moment. "I see you. A man surrounded by fools who cannot see his strength, his vision, his glory ... You walk in worlds the others can't begin to imagine..."

"Oh my God," Buffy gasped, shooting to her feet. "I've heard that before. Why have I heard that before?"

"That's what she told me when I was turned," Spike murmured. "You're picking up my memories again, pet."

Buffy reached for his hand and held it. This was getting too karmatically weird. Everything that had happened up to this point was creepy enough, but finding out that Dru had known what was going to happen all along...

"Is anyone else severely power-freaked?" Xander asked into the silence. 

Anya thrust her hand into the air. "Ooh, me!"

"Yes, how very surprising," Giles drawled. He frowned at Spike. "So, you're expecting us to accept that Drusilla was aware of what was to transpire when she changed you? That the Powers allowed her to know this?"

Spike shrugged. He didn't bother trying to explain any further, Dru's ramblings were enough for him. He'd learned to trust them over the years and she'd never once been wrong, never led him astray.

"She's never been wrong before," Buffy stated.

Spike glanced at her and she squeezed his hand supportively. She could feel his certainty and that was all the impetus she needed to back him up.

"Even so," Giles went on, "The inclusion of some portion of her vital spirit may not be enough to keep her in line. I had my entire soul intact and I was still unable to control myself."

"You should have come to me," Angel said. "I've been there and having a soul isn't the be-all and end-all when it comes to controlling the demon. It's not that simple. It took me a hundred years to work through that." He sat down next to Drusilla, taking up the spot that Spike had vacated. "I don't think Dru's going to kill, though. Are you?"

"Oh no," Drusilla looked horrified. "Enough. It's done for. Innocents suffer at the hands of death." She shot a glance sideward at her Sire. "I don't wish them to suffer as I did."

Angel grimaced. "I'm sorry, Dru. For what happened."

She smiled at him shyly. "You've never once said that and truly meant it, my Angel, but I choose to believe you this time."

Spike snorted, backing into the chair that Buffy had abandoned and pulling the Slayer onto his lap. Her earlier speculations about the position had given him a start, but he could see that the idea had its merits. 

She curled her legs up and lay her head on his chest, listening to the steady thud of their heartbeat. It was a comforting sound.

"Guh-goong," she whispered, patting her fingers against him in time with its rhythm. "Guh-goong."

Spike scowled. "Have you gone soft, love?"

"'Dirty Dancing'," she said, as if it explained everything.

The vampire's scowl deepened as he tried to work out what she was referring to. The girl's brain was a puzzle to him. She seemed to be able to read him like a book, but unless she was thinking something directly he couldn't figure her out. He reckoned it was a generic female thing, they were all unfathomable. 

And who the hell was Patrick Swayze anyway?

"So," Xander piped up. "What are we all hanging around here for? Giles is all recovered, right? And Not-So-Dead Boy can't make like a crispy critter, so I'm thinkin' ... back to the Xan-man's humble abode? And pizza, maybe? A little video session to unwind?"

"Pizza?" Buffy and Spike spoke simultaneously. They stared at each other, horrified, and then tore out of the room at full speed, clambering up the staircase.

"I didn't think they'd be that opposed to the idea," Giles commented. "I was quite looking forward to it actually."

"They've remembered the boy," Dru said softly. "I'd forgotten, too."

Angel winced. She had someone upstairs? He should have known that. She'd always shared his predilection for torture. It was one thing that Spike could never stomach, usually making his kills for food only. He'd never understood why until recently.

"We're still here because it's light out," he muttered. "Spike might be able to gallivant about in the sun, but Dru and I can't." He tried not to sound resentful, he really did.

Xander mouthed a silently exaggerated "O-Kay" and gave Anya a pointed look. 

She stared at him blankly, before catching on. "Oh. This is a sensitive subject, right?" she asked matter-of-factly. "I get it. No blabbering on about the sun when Angel's around. Not from me, no sirree."

Xander shook his head. He didn't know why he even bothered. 

And besides, he loved her directness. She wouldn't be Anya without all the inappropriately candid observations. It spiced life up a bit - kept him entertained.

"Has anyone got a cell-phone?"

Buffy's breathless question interrupted any further discussion while Angel called the hospital for an ambulance.

~*[+]*~

Spike took a swig of blood and began sloshing the liquid around in his mouth. He tipped his head back...

"You start gargling," Buffy warned, coming into the kitchen, "And I _will_ stake you."

The vampire barely managed to keep from spraying her with his breakfast at the comment. Well, he was calling it breakfast. It was just past sunset outside, but he was still operating on vamp-time.

"Don't think that'll work now," he said, swallowing and grinning at her.

"Ugh! You have blood on your teeth!"

Spike ran his tongue across them, wiping away the pinkish residue.

"And what do you mean stakes won't work?" Buffy moved past him and opened the refrigerator.

"Just what I said. The heart beats now, love. Rammin' a pointy stick in it'll probably hurt like hell, but I won't go 'pfft'." He flicked his fingers upward to demonstrate.

"Sunlight doesn't work anymore either," Buffy lamented. "That's no fun. What can I threaten you with now?"

Spike pondered that. He wandered over to the breakfast bar and put his mug down, absently swirling his finger in it and then sucking on it.

"Decapitation?" he suggested.

"Too messy," Buffy slammed the fridge shut and joined him. She had a carton of orange juice in her hand. "How about fire? Vamps are pretty flammable. Bet you'd still light up like a Christmas tree." She put the carton down and clapped her hands together in a simulated explosion. "Whoosh!"

"Charming," Spike drawled. "Good thing I've not got a delicate constitution like the whelp. I'd be flat on my back by now."

Buffy tipped her head at him. "I like it when you're flat on your back."

He snorted. "Control freak."

"You love it." She leant across the bar, smiling seductively.

"Do not." Spike cupped her chin in his hand and leant down as if to kiss her, but veered off course at the last second and attacked her ear instead - a spot where he'd noticed she was especially sensitive.

Buffy had just closed her eyes, enjoying the attention, when there was a knock at the kitchen door. "Aargh!" she protested. "Go away."

Spike pulled back, smirking. He shot her a wink as he abandoned his ministrations to answer.

"'Lo Peaches," he greeted. "What brings you to Casa Del Slayer?"

Angel stared at him, expressionless, and Spike belatedly remembered what he was wearing. He grimaced. Hard to be all Big Bad with your Sire when you were clad in nothing but a pair of 'Looney Tunes' boxers.

"Nice shorts," the older vampire said drolly. "Tweety's my favorite too."

"Jealous?"

"Absolutely."

Spike scowled. He couldn't tell if Angel was kidding or not, so he stood back to let him inside.

"Hi Angel." Buffy had returned the orange juice carton and was rinsing out Spike's mug.

"Hey, I wasn't done," Spike complained.

"It was cold," she informed him. "When it gets cold, it gets all lumpy and sticks like glue."

"I know," he whined. "I like it that way. The clots are the best bit."

She wrinkled her nose. "Okay, _so_ not needing that image right now."

Angel watched them with a heavy sense of resignation. They'd already slipped into a routine. They were being all domestic and coupley. He was happy for them, he really was, but it still hurt. Much more than he expected.

"I'm leaving," he said quietly. "Going back to LA."

"Good then," Spike nodded. "See ya." He pulled a fresh bag of blood from the fridge and set about wrestling his mug back from Buffy. "Give it," he growled.

She held it behind her back. "No."

There was a slight skirmish, with neither willing to give in. Angel sighed and snatched the mug from Buffy's hands where she was holding it above her head. He handed it to Spike.

"Party poop," the younger vamp muttered, padding away.

"You taking Dru along with?" Buffy asked Angel, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.

"Yeah. She's not strong enough on her own and I figured I could keep an eye on her. Teach her control and stuff." He shuffled his feet a little. "Cordy's not gonna be happy." He sounded suspiciously like a browbeaten husband.

Spike glanced up from pouring blood into his mug, his eyes narrowing in speculation. So, the Great Poof and the Cheerleader, huh? Now there was something that was almost interesting. He quirked an eyebrow at Buffy and she shook her head at him. 

Not the time for ridicule, then? No worries, he could wait.

"Giles recovering?" Buffy inquired. She was semi-wigged by the devotion Angel apparently harbored for Cordelia, but she also knew better than most how tight he could clam up when it came to the personal stuff. They'd have to hold off until he was ready to make with the confessions on his own. "We haven't checked in on him yet."

"He's coping okay." Angel replied, utterly unaware of the subject drift taking place beneath his perception. "Apologizing a lot."

"Tell me about it," Spike snorted. "It's gettin' bloody monotonous. If he keeps on when we go visit, I'll truss him up and gag him."

Angel's lips twisted at the image that popped into his head. He'd love to be a fly on _that_ wall. "How's that pizza kid doing?" he asked. 

Buffy and Spike had handled the paramedics earlier and then followed on to the hospital. They felt guilty for forgetting about the boy, and for not getting him out at the first opportunity.

"He'll be fine," Buffy said, hopping up to sit on the counter. "Can you believe they're calling it a mugging?" She shook her head. "Gotta love the Sunnydale PD - they've got fudging the weird stuff down to a fine art."

Both vampires shrugged. They were used to authorities turning a blind eye, having lived through a few lifetimes worth of cover-ups.

"No sign of your demon pal?" Angel directed the question at Spike but Buffy answered as if he'd spoken to her instead. It amazed him how easily they'd adapted to link-life. Another sign that it was meant to be, he guessed.

"Disappeared right off the face of the earth," she related, rolling her eyes. "Will someone please explain to me how a gigantic lizardy thing in a psychedelic van can go completely unnoticed by like, _anyone_?"

"Same deal as the coppers, pet," Spike said. "See no evil and all that."

Buffy leant forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "You know, you never did say why he owed you a favor." 

He canted his head to the side and eyed her skeptically. "Oh, right. Like you haven't ducked in to see for yourself."

"We agreed not to do that without asking first."

"So we did," Spike acknowledged. He didn't elaborate.

"Doesn't mean I won't though," Buffy cautioned. She suddenly grinned and straightened up, her eyes widening with realization. "I've just figured out what I can threaten you with." She turned to the other vampire. "Hey, Angel, did you know about..."

She was cut off as Spike jumped up and slapped his hand over her mouth.

"Fine," he gritted between clenched teeth. "I'll spill."

"Loser," she chortled via the link, nibbling at the skin of his palm and then licking it. He tasted salty and sweet at the same time. It was kinda yum-worthy.

Spike wrenched his hand away. "_Yum-worthy_?" he thought. She gave him a satisfied smirk and he stared at her incredulously. "Uh, yeah. Okay. Here's the thing then. It was in the late '60s. 1968 or 69?" He frowned as he tried to get the memory straight, turning and wandering back to the breakfast bar. "New Orleans, I think. Or was it New York? It was New _something_..." 

"He never was any good at figuring out where he was," Angel interjected. "He was always getting lost."

Spike glowered. "Was not."

"Were too."

"Don't get all school-yard on me, you guys," Buffy scolded. "Just tell."

"Apollyon was a bit hard up back then," Spike revealed.

"For cash?" Angel was surprised.

"For birds." The younger vampire actually looked embarrassed, a slight flush creeping along his cheekbones. "It was the 'Summer of Love' and all that hippified flower-power crap." He gazed fixedly into his mug. "The Keratos weren't exactly swarmin' about in plentiful numbers, them bein' so rare and all, and he was lookin' for a mate." 

"You hooked him up with a honey," Buffy giggled, picturing him playing at vamp-cupid, complete with beads and long hair. "That's ... pretty damn funny."

"Don't know that you'd call her a honey," Spike grimaced, ignoring her merriment. He could see the retro-Spike picture she'd created in her head and, as tragic as it was, she wasn't too far off the mark. "Keratos females are even bigger than the males, and if you thought Apollyon had a bad case of the uglies, well..." He shuddered. "Let's not go there."

"And that's it?" Angel asked dubiously. "That was the big favor?"

"Yeah. Saved their sodding species, didn't I?" Spike puffed out his chest, defensive. "It was all about procreation, you arrogant git. To go forth and bloody multiply. They had quite a few litters of offspring as I recall."

"Ew! Scaly demon babies," Buffy's lips turned down in distaste. "So not cute."

The smile that was beginning to spread across Angel's face stopped and he turned to Buffy as a thought occurred to him. "Spike's more or less human now, right?"

She frowned. "Yeah, so?"

"So? Babies, Buffy," he prompted. "You could have a child now."

"Well, not right _now_," she began, then realized what he was saying. She turned to Spike, her eyes huge. "Oh-my-God."

Spike simply grinned at her and then noisily slurped his blood. He'd already thought of this.

Buffy pulled a face. "That is just..." She seemed to shake herself. "I mean, we're not even..."

"We're not?" Spike's grin shifted into wicked leer mode. "What do you call what we did all afternoon then?"

Buffy blushed furiously, shooting a mortified glance at Angel. "That was sleeping together," she hissed. "In the literal, slumbery, Land-of-Nod sense. Not, you know, _sleeping_ together."

"Not yet."

"And I'll be taking that as my cue to clear out," Angel muttered, feeling ill. He had no idea now why he'd brought the subject up in the first place. What was he, some kind of glutton for punishment? Did he have 'shmuck' stamped on his forehead?

"Yeah, okay." Buffy slipped off the counter to give him a hug. She was still reeling from grouping the words 'Spike' and 'baby' together in the same thought. They just didn't match - it was a great big unmeshy thing in her head. And it brought up a whole heap of other issues that she didn't want to deal with just yet.

"Shrinkin' violet," Spike noted softly, as perceptive as ever.

The hushed comment cast her memory back to earlier that morning when he'd told her to hit him if he got too pushy. She sent him a smile.

Angel bent and planted a kiss on her forehead, drawing her focus back to the present. "Be careful," she instructed, giving him an affectionate squeeze.

"I will." 

He backed away and thrust his hands into his pockets, the movement hunching his broad shoulders. He stared uncomfortably at his Childe, feeling that something needed to be said but unsure as to what.

Buffy took the opportunity to observe the two loves of her life. Vampires both, and yet their contrasting natures couldn't have been more pronounced than at that moment.

Dressed entirely in black, Angel radiated gloom and doom. Combined with his powerful frame, dark countenance and unnatural stillness, it made him seem like some kind of imposing statue, carved from stone and hidden in the shadows.

Spike was all bright hair and alabaster skin, a full head shorter than his Sire and whipcord lean in his ridiculous cartooned shorts. His restless energy was palpable as he shifted from one foot to the other, unable to stay idle for even a second. 

He scrutinized Angel carefully, a muscle working in his jaw. 

"Drop it," he said, realizing what was up. "No speeches necessary. You're forgiven, all right? But I'd prefer if I didn't see you anytime soon." 

Angel bowed his head, turning his attention to his shoes.

Spike grinned smugly, eyes twinkling with devilment. "And tell your vision girl not to give you too much of a happy."

"What?" Angel blinked at him. How the hell had Spike known about that?

Spike gave him a shrewd look and wagged his eyebrows suggestively, curling his tongue behind his teeth. Then he flinched and shot a pained look at Buffy. 

"Would you quit that, Slayer?"

She folded her arms, an ingenuous expression on her face. "Quit what?"

He scowled and dug his thumb into his temple, massaging the spot through sheer habit - it never helped much. "Sodding chip," he grumbled. 

Angel's mouth twitched as he tried to stifle his amusement. "As much as I enjoy seeing you in pain, Spike. I can't hang around." He moved to the door and opened it, peering back at the younger vampire over his shoulder. "You'd better make her happy," he warned. "'Cause if you don't..." He trailed off, leaving the threat unspoken.

Spike nodded, understanding exactly where he was coming from.

Buffy waved a hand. "Hello? Still in the room?"

Angel merely smiled and walked out into the night. 

Buffy and Spike followed to watch from the open doorway as he got into his convertible. He had the top down and Drusilla was sitting in passenger seat. She gave them a timid wave.

"So, is this the part where we live happily ever after?" Spike asked, wrapping his arms around Buffy's waist. He rested his chin on her hair.

"Oh please!" she scoffed. "In Sunnydale? Not bloody likely."

"You know, you're gonna have to stop nickin' my colloquialisms, pet," he told her, deliberately picking a fight.

"Like you haven't started using mine?" she retorted, knowing what he was doing and loving the normalcy of it. "Since when do you say 'hippified'?"

"Now, that's a commonly used turn of phrase I'll have you know," Spike defended. "You Scoobies don't have the market cornered on slang. Expect your Watcher will back me up there."

"His name is _Giles_," she stressed. Stupid nicknamey vampire. "And he'd agree with anything you say right now because he's all regretty and guilt-ridden."

"Was there a point in there, Slayer?"

They turned to go inside, their argument drawing their attention away from the street as Angel's car pulled out.

As the door closed behind them, a van rolled into sight. A garishly painted neon-pink mini-van with tinted windows and a yellow smiley-face on the door. It was quite obviously following Angel. 

Buffy and Spike were too engrossed in each other to notice. 

Whether Angel realized he had a tail or not is another story.

~*[ **THE END** ]*~


End file.
